How to Save a Life
by Historyman101
Summary: The first installment of the Historical Eureka Seven Saga. 1942: Renton once traveled to Europe before the war, but he left friends behind. One friend in particular is tugging at his heart: a Russian girl he met in Stalingrad named Eureka. With the siege now underway, he will do everything he can to find her again. Some characters OOC Reviews appreciated. *REUPLOADED* COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note**: You're probably all wondering why this is being pushed to the top of the archive page. Well gather round, because it's time for some backstory: I first wrote the Eureka Seven historical fanfiction series when I was in high school, and officially finished it just before graduating and going off to college. In the time since my last post in the Eureka Seven archive, I have done major editing and revision of the original historical fiction, as I plan to submit it for publication. However, I have seen recently that people still are reading what I wrote 6 years ago, so I figure it only makes sense to post what I have changed since then. So this is a warning to everyone who has read this or will read it: the plot has greatly changed, and is still going under revision. Expect major changes in original canon, characters eliminated and/or changed, and plot to be changed. Consider this a reissue, because after so much editing and revision, I think the historical fanfiction deserves it. With that in mind, I hope you enjoy it. I don't own Eureka Seven. The credit for that goes to Bones.

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**Disclaimer: I don't own Eureka Seven. The credit for that goes to Bones.**

_In one of the great battles of the last great war, one boy and one girl will risk everything to find the path to liberty._

_This is the story of how Renton Thurston, a young American, saved Eureka Novikova, a young Russian girl and how they eventually fall in love. It is a story of love and war, bravery and sacrifice, and how the power of love can overcome insurmountable odds._

_The first installment of the Eureka Seven historical fanfic series..._

**How to Save a Life**

**By Jordan Harms**

**Chapter One**

**August 22****nd****, 1938**

**Stalingrad, USSR**

The winds of autumn were just beginning to blow across the steppes, and swept empty bags and scraps of paper over the sidewalks of the city. The sun still shone brightly over the clear sky, but in the passenger terminal of this noble city, a dark cloud hung over two families.

One was a family of three boys and one girl, watched with the caring eye of their father. The father and eldest son were decked in military uniforms, with insignia on their collars denoting their ranks. The youngest daughter was in a light blue summer dress with a white bodice, with great tears standing in her grey smoldering eyes. This occasion was affecting her the most, and slowly becoming a tearful event for all of them.

The other family was a pair of foreigners, a father and his son who had traveled through Europe in months prior. Their summer trek had brought them here, and it was becoming just as difficult for them to say goodbye. For in the weeks they spent travelling through the Old Continent, no greater friendship had been made than here. The foreigner's son in particular was taking it hard, having grown so close to the four boys and one girl in such a short span of time. Why did they have to part now? Why did God decree for them to be separated? Why did the fates conspire against them?

Each parting was accompanied by words spoken in the native tongue, fond reminiscences of happy days spent together, and hearty exchanges of farewells and promises that, to some, seemed impossible to keep. But not to the foreigner's son. To him, all things were possible. The fact that he had traveled here, had met so many people, and had formed such strong friendships with the members of this family was proof that anything and everything was feasible if one just set one's mind to it. Even with that optimistic thought, his voice shook with each word, and lips quivered with each promise made. He couldn't lose these people. Not after he had lost so much in his life.

As the foreigner's son came to the daughter, his father boarded the train with both their bags. As far as he was concerned, the time for goodbyes was over. After seeing what Europe was about to become, he feared that he and his son may never cross paths with these fine Russians again. A dark tempest was fast approaching, and one that would engulf all of them; he knew it when he saw it, and knew that his son had to see the world before there would be nothing left to see. It was that fear and that sense of dread that had carried them here. And it was now that fear and sense of dread that was taking them back.

"Renton, hurry up!" his father called, as he set the bags down in the vestibule. "The train will leave soon!"

"Just let me say something to her, Father," answered the son, reluctant to leave his little friend so soon.

"Alright, but don't make me leave you behind!"

The boy, Renton, turned to the girl, and saw her heart breaking. He offered comfort as he rested a gentle hand on her delicate shoulder.

"I still…can't believe…you're leaving so soon…" she eked out, crying in-between her words.

"I wish I could stay longer too," the boy admonished. "I wish I was born in this country instead of America right now."

"Will I ever see you again?"

"What does your heart tell you?"

The girl paused for a moment, in contemplation. She searched through her being, wondering what the future will hold for her and her newfound friend. In merely three weeks, they had been inseparable from each other. He had a much deeper friendship with her than any the foreigner's son had made in previous travels. Likewise, the girl had never known a boy like him, and now, as he stood in front of her awaiting departure to his home country, the chances seemed slim. But as the boy had taught her, nothing was impossible in this life. Not if one believed.

"It says…yes."

The boy smiled, joining her in her optimism.

"Then we _will_ meet again."

"Please come back!" she cried, leaping into his arms, sobbing.

Renton comforted her, running his fingers through her soft brown hair like a finely knit crochet, calming her and speaking comforting words in times when comfort was a luxury nary to be found.

"Eureka…please don't cry…I promise…I'll come back."

"You…you do?" she sniffed, staring up at him with entreating grey eyes.

"I'll come back to you," he vowed, resting his head against hers, trying to impart some sense of faith in her. "I'll come back to you, your family, and everyone else. It'll be just like before. Nothing will change, I promise you."

"You swear you will come back?"

"As God is my witness."

They broke apart from their embrace, as her crying subsided and he wiped away the remnant tears from her smooth marble-like face. He was about to board the train, but felt he could not simply leave her with words. She, his newest and closest friend he ever made, deserved more than a mere promise from him. Thus he parted her hair and gave her a gentle affectionate kiss on the forehead.

Soft, warm, and tender, all her sadness melted away, along with her surroundings. The train station, the train itself, and the platform she was standing on faded away leaving only the soft and soothing sensation of Renton's lips on her head.

As soon as his lips left her head, and she had recalled her senses, he was already on the train, joining his father. Her brothers and her father were all waving goodbye, saying they would stay in contact, and would not forget him. But the question in her mind was: would he?

"Renton!"

Renton, still on the steps of the passenger car, looked to her with the brightest smile he could muster, as if this was merely a dream, or a scene in some great play.

"You won't forget me, will you?"

Renton laughed, wondering how she could even entertain that notion.

"Me? Forget you? Never in my whole life."

The girl smiled, and at that moment, the engine's whistle blew a long mournful and low tone. It was singing a one-note eulogy to their parting, a serenade that spoke of happy days gone by, and important memories shared. The train gave a gentle nudge forward, and started moving. Its wheels turned slowly…sadly. As his car moved farther down the platform, the girl instinctively followed it, not wanting to waste a single moment with the boy even as he was moving farther and farther away from her life. Soon the walk turned into a run, and then into a sprint. As she chased the car, and her dearest friend aboard it, Renton called out to her.

"I won't ever forget the times I spent here with you! I will write to you! I'll come back to you! I promise!"

As she reached the end of the platform, she called out in one resolute and steadfast voice:

"I KNOW YOU WILL!"

With that promise between them made, the engine gave another somber blow on the whistle as it sped out of the city, to the steppes beyond, and to the ship that would eventually take the foreigner and his son home. She waved goodbye, and wouldn't stop waving until the train was eventually out of sight. He would return, as she knew he was a boy never to go back on his promises. How could he, when they had spent so many happy times together, and had grown inseparable in such a short time? She would wait, wait as long as she had to, but he would return to her.

**Four Years Later**

**September 3****rd****, 1942**

**Bellforest, California**

The young 16-year-old continued walking down the street, neither looking left nor right. His body was straight as a ramrod, back erect, shoulders thrown back. His dark brown hair was hanging in his face, his dark green eyes looking straight ahead, as they always did. He always was one to keep moving forward. He was wearing his usual white dress shirt with the collar buttoned up, something which helped him focus on what was in front of him. He wore his grey knickerbockers with the long black socks, his old dirty brown shoes, and his brother's oversized hole-riddled patched grey jacket, buttoned and tied. When he reached a crosswalk, he cautiously crossed the road, even though he knew that there were no cars on the road; the nation needed to save gas for the war effort. Yet he always went through this ritual, whenever he left his little house on a hill to go anywhere, high school or otherwise. It had become second nature to him, like breathing or blinking. All he kept thinking about was his father, his friends, and that little Russian girl.

_Dammit! Why must I think of her now? It's bad enough that my father could die any day. He's in the Pacific. He could be caught by the Japanese and be tortured. I have no loved ones in Europe, so why must I continually think of it? _

You do have loved ones there, he told himself. Don't try denying it. Think of Jacques, of Vladimir, of Eureka! Who knows what horrors they are facing? Keep them in your thoughts always, like a good friend should, he scolded himself. He stopped and looked around. There was no one. He was just glad no one heard him talking to himself. All the same, it wouldn't have mattered to him if anyone did. He knew he wasn't crazy.

He had friends here, too. He had lived here for most of his life, in this quiet valley town in the shadow of San Francisco.

James, or Moondoggie as some liked to call him, the wise old owl with reading glasses always carrying a book.

Matthieu always laughed and joked and kidded with all who knew him.

He didn't have anyone else, though. Of course he had his brother Willie, a tall thin 20-year-old who had dropped out of college the year before. Young and ambitious as he remembered him, back before his mother became ill. He had his father, even if he _was_ now in the Marine Corps. Besides them, however, no one else. No one whom he could really relate to, no one that could really understand him, help him, talk with him, fight with him.

At that thought, Eureka suddenly popped into his head. He remembered when he first met her in Stalingrad, those four long years ago, when she was still a little girl of nine. I wonder what she looks like after four years, he thought. Eureka, even if she was Vladimir's little sister, looked very different than her brother when he met them. He thought about those mysterious grey eyes, the long dark hair in curls, that cheerful smile, that soothing voice. If he could talk to anyone, really talk to anyone, he could talk to her.

_Eureka, keep well. Stay safe. Perhaps I'll see you again when this horrible war is over. _

He arrived at the high school at about ten minutes to eight, and he treaded up the steps to the top of the green. He had passed by this high school many times in his life, and he and his friends often played games near there and always sat to hear the clock tower bell chime to tell them when it was time to go home. He couldn't spot his friends anywhere today; perhaps they were late, he thought. It was of no consequence, however, as he simply made his way to the main hall for his first class. He could use a day by himself, now that he thought of it. He went to his locker, out of the cold autumn winds and went to the business of sorting his books and mentally deciding what to use for yet another day of classes. As he found the materials he needed, he heard a voice call out his name.

"HEY THURSTON!"

He turned to find a group of boys about his age coming towards him wearing smirks on their faces. They didn't look to be the most amiable people in the school. That much was made clear when the leader of the pack, a tall black-haired boy with dark indigo eyes, slammed him into the wall of lockers. The others quickly took the opportunity to smack the books out of his hands, spreading them out all over the tiled floor.

The gang of boys laughed as they left him rubbing his head, his materials spread all over the tiled floor for him to pick up.

He growled in frustration as he tried to hurriedly pick up his supplies before the bell rang. It would be terrible if he arrived late to the first class of the day. This kind of harassment was something he had grown accustomed to in the last years. He wasn't part of the in-crowd by any stretch of the imagination. The nature of his surroundings made him one of the "others." His mixed background also made him a target. Whether it was through alienation, harassment, bullying, or the simple glare, he never belonged.

At the thought of fitting in, Eureka appeared again in his mind. In his times abroad in Russia, she and her family had always been accepting. In fact, everyone in her neighborhood had accepted him as one of their own. It was ironic how he felt at home in a country that wasn't his, among people who were not his own nationality. He never encountered much antagonism overseas, so why couldn't people here just be the same?

"Bastards…" he muttered under his breath as he struggled to gather his things.

"I agree, they are," said a female voice from somewhere behind him.

He looked up, and saw a fair-skinned blonde girl, about 16, with a pink ribbon in her long flowing hair. She wore a blue dress with a white apron with pockets, striped red and white stockings and black penny loafers. Her eyes were dark blue, dark as the bay at sunset when looking out from the Golden Gate and her lip redder than any rose in bloom.

"One should always be kind to others," the blonde girl spoke.

"The Golden Rule, if that's how it's called," he said in obvious agreement.

She knelt down and set to the business of helping him gather his materials of necessity. In the short span of time it took to clean the floor, he realized how it was the first time a girl had approached him, at least here at home anyway. He never garnered much attention from the fairer sex in this town, for reasons as varied as what humanity's purpose was. His lack of family wealth, his lack of physical attractiveness, and his lack of athletic ability hampered any chances to garner attention from girls in his school and in his neighborhood for that matter. He thought nothing of it, however. He always viewed the campus as the outsider, knowing he didn't belong. It never accepted him and it never would.

They stood up, and the girl handed him what things she had collected off the floor. He nodded in thanks and left to go. He felt this girl had a momentary bout of kindness, and come the next day she would be off with her crowd, laughing and mocking him as all did. But as he left to go, she followed him, to his great surprise.

"You have the same class as me, I take it…" he said quietly.

"No," the girl corrected, "I merely have a class on the same floor. What's your first class?"

"English. Mr. Dawson."

"I have Ms. Gregory."

"I hear she's an old shrew if ever there was one," he chuckled.

"I suppose we shall see," the girl giggled in response.

She laughed. The first time a girl other than Eureka ever laughed at anything he said.

"So how was your summer?" she posed to him.

A good question. He hardly ever left his house other than to go to work, as he had been glued to the radio, hoping for some good news from the war, but was found wanting. There was nary a day that went by when he didn't think of the girl he left behind in Russia. What could Eureka be doing now? Did she still remember him? How had the war affected her and her family? He had to give some answer that wouldn't depress her, so he merely shrugged his shoulders.

"Okay, I suppose. Just listening to Edward R. Murrow with the radio reports."

"Things are not looking good," said the girl, gravely.

He nodded, in obvious agreement.

"Tell me about it," he responded in a low voice. "Russia has been taking a real beating with the new offensive in the south."

"Things have been going better in North Africa, though. Montgomery's British Eighth Army has stopped Erwin Rommel at El Alamein, in Egypt."

The bell rang, signaling the time to go to class. The blonde girl bid him goodbye and they went their separate ways. For now, anyway. He merely turned to the classroom door that he was assigned to for the first hour, but before entering, he looked over his shoulder. For what reason, he could not tell. Then he called out.

"Wait!"

The girl stopped and turned to him for a moment, as if she was resisting the urge to go. He had to know that this girl was genuine in her show of kindness, and did not experience a mere moment of sympathy only to return to the golden crowd to judge and mock. It was not the easiest thing in the world, but he managed to eke out a question.

"I…I want to thank you…for what you did for me back there. Would you…like to join me for lunch sometime?"

He thought for sure the girl would laugh right in his face for even supposing to suggest such a thing, after they had only known each other for less than five minutes. Surprisingly however, she didn't laugh. She only smiled sincerely and said,

"Of course. Where do you eat lunch usually?"

"By…the large tree," he replied slowly, still in shock the girl had accepted his offer. "in front of Keyser Hall."

"Oh, I know which one you mean. I'd be happy to join you. But I must go now; can't be late to the first class. Ta-ta!"

He watched her walk down the hall to a door on the left, and watched as she opened the door. The lighting of the hall seemed to reflect off her golden hair, giving a heavenly glow to it. I wonder who she is, he thought. He was almost entranced by this girl, and he didn't even know her. He shook his head violently and broke his trance. You've got class to think about, he thought. He turned again to his classroom door and quietly opened it before slipping in like a ghost in the night.

»»»»»

He arrived at his home at about four in the afternoon, or so his pocket watch said. He opened the door and walked into the silent house. It was often silent, since Willie never came back from his job at Marinship until about 7:30 in the evening. It was a small house on a hill overlooking the neighborhood and a block or two from the church. It wasn't the best of homes, but it was still his home.

His family would not have afforded anything else, anyway. He came from a farming family about twenty miles north of the town. When the Great Crash of '29 came around, his father and mother were hit hard. They had no choice but to sell the farm after his mother died, and move down south where the jobs were. His father and brother got a job at the steel works, which managed to bring some money in before Pearl Harbor. His father left for the Marine Corps and Willie then took another job at Marinship, working as a welder for the Liberty Ships. No one was in the house but him. He was used to it now after one and a half years. His father was in the Pacific, Willie was at work most of the time, and his mother had been dead for seven years. It didn't matter to him now. The important thing was to get through these hard times as best as we can.

He went into the small kitchen and removed a Coke from the ice box. He then went to his work desk in the living room, took out his work and turned on the radio. Edward R. Murrow was reporting on the fighting near Stalingrad. The Russians were not doing well. They could only reinforce and supply their forces in Stalingrad by perilous crossings of the Volga River, under constant bombardment by German artillery and planes. Renton became increasingly worried about Eureka. What if she should get caught in the fight, he thought. She might be killed. I would never be able to bear that. He got up and was going to pack a suitcase to leave for Russia, but he immediately stopped himself.

_I can't go! The school year's just started. This is more important!_

Two sides of his head argued with each other.

_Don't leave her there; she isn't safe. _

_Perhaps the Russians will fight back and she'll be alright. _

_What if they don't? _

_But what if they do? _

_She's my friend! I won't leave her to die! _

_You don't know if she'll die. The Russians are hard fighters. They'll push the Germans back. _

_Doesn't sound like they'll be pushing anyone back the way the fight's going now! _

On and on and on it went, never stopping. He didn't know what to do. He tried to take his mind off it by going back to his work. He could work all day, but it wouldn't resolve the question. Should he stay or should he leave and help Eureka and Vladimir? He continued working for two hours, still contemplating his options. He then tried to find a middle ground. When was a time he could go away? C'mon, think, he said to himself. Then it dawned on him: Christmas vacation. It was perfect. He could go on working and still come to help Eureka and Vladimir. In any case, he thought, from the radio reports this battle looked to be a long and bloody one. When Christmas break came around he would catch the next boat for Vladivostok. It was the only way.

The thought was now out of his head and he continued working until around seven, at which time he had finished everything. He stood up and went to take his bath and prepare for bed. He never stopped thinking about Eureka and what horrors she must be facing. Hang on, Eureka, he said to himself. I'll be there. Just hang in there.

Nightfall came and Renton was in his little bedroom. There was only one window in the whole room and there was nothing but a bed stand and his cot. They couldn't afford anything else. He didn't care. Even if he was poor, he never gave a rap, never complained, but only worked harder to try and improve himself. He lay on his bed thinking about all the terrors Eureka must be facing. Please, God, spare her, he prayed to himself. Have pity on her, Lord, and spare her. Hold on, Eureka. Just hold on. Just hold on. Just hold on.

He continued repeating those three words until at last he fell asleep, was dreaming about Eureka. He saw her amidst the ruins of the city, standing near the docks. Eureka ran to him and embraced him tightly, crying softly into his shoulders. Eureka lifted her head and whispered in Renton's ear,

"I'll hold on. I promise I will. I'll hold on for as long as it takes."

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**Author's Note**: I am still continuing this process of editing, but the first part of this story, _How to Save a Life_, is more or less completely revised. I figure with that in mind, it makes sense to post the edited version of it first. If I do come to revise the other two parts of the series, _Fight for the One You Love _and _In the Face of Evil_, I will post edited chapters of those as well. In the meantime, please read, review, and get back to me with what you think.

I'm back guys.

Jordan


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

**September 21****st****, 1942**

Two weeks had passed. He saw the blonde more often, and sometimes she even joined him with his friends. The first time was about a week ago when she simply walked up to him and sat by him with neither of them saying a word. Their growing friendship was unspoken between them. They smiled and shared their rationed food. The first time she spoke was yesterday.

She walked up to him in her blue skirt and sat down across from him without the others taking notice. He offered her some of his hardtack which she accepted gladly. After a long silence and, he finally worked up the nerve to speak.

"What's your name?: he asked.

"My name?" repeated the blonde.

He was surprised by her English accent.

"Oh! Jane. Jane Hart. And yours?"

"Renton. Renton Thurston."

Silence. Renton cleared his throat.

"You're British, aren't you?"

Jane smiled.

"How could you tell?"

"Hard to hide that accent."

The two laughed quietly.

"What's a limey like you doing way out here?"

"I came over during the Blitz, after my home was destroyed."

"You're an evacuee?" Jane nodded solemnly.

"I went to Britain once," said Renton quietly.

"Where did you go?"

"London, Oxford, Cambridge, York, but it was a long time ago…"

"Did you like it?"

"I loved it."

Silence ensued once more. Jane soon broke it and asked a question.

"What do you and your friends talk about?"

"Lots of things."

"Anything I'd be interested in?"

"Probably not," Renton said, laughing a small innocent laugh.

"Come on," Jane coaxed.

"We mostly speak about the war."

He paused.

"I would know more if I didn't daydream so much." Jane laughed.

They talked for a long while about things he could barely remember now. He loved talking to her. She seemed to have that divine spark, a zest for life. Renton saw in her a sense of fleeting youth, but with a clinging innocence. She seemed the last of the innocents in his mind, in this world fraught with war and evil. They now met more frequently. One time that stuck out was in the library.

He loved to read. Books had been his friend since he was a child. He had many books on his shelves at home, too many for him to count. They were his mother's, before she died from cancer. He read everything he could get his hands on, fiction or nonfiction, adventure or romance, comedy or tragedy. He especially loved to read the newspapers. If he had a true love, it was his books.

She had come in many times simply to "have a little chit-chat", as she often put it. Her constant curiosity was something he found charming. It was the same old conversation: she asked what book he's reading, and she talked about a similar book. Yet somehow it was as if he'd never read it before. Whenever he read a history book, that discussion went on and on. History was his passion. He was enamored with the events of the past and how they often shaped the times he was living in. His great-great-grandfather had been an officer in the Civil War, and his cousin had been killed in the Great War. He somehow knew he was living in momentous times that would be remembered for generations to come. She sensed how important it all was to him. It proved to be unsettling.

Jane liked him, but wished he could talk about other things besides the war. The war depressed her. Her brother and only was in the British Eighth Army in North Africa and she worried about him constantly. Any mention of bad news in the war sometimes brought her to tears, She rarely talked about him to anyone.

»»»»»

"Dreadfully sorry, Renton."

"Quite alright."

Jane was late as usual. It annoyed him, but he said nothing. She sat down very closely next to him and the two were silent again until finally Jane spoke.

"Renton?" She hesitated.

"Hmm?"

"May I tell you something?"

"Anything. What's wrong?"

"Nothing's happened, but I just want to ask you something."

"Ask away."

"Renton…"

He wished she would trust him a little more.

"Renton," Jane started again, "could you please not bring up the war again? It's terribly depressing to hear it."

"Why?"

"It's just that my brother is in the army. Whenever I hear of bad news on the front, I fear the worst."

"Gosh, why didn't you say sooner?"

Jane looked down at her penny loafers, slightly covered with dirt.

"Do you promise not to bring it up again?"

"Of course. I promise, Jane."

"Thank you, Renton." He smiled.

"What are friends for?"

Jane realized how little she knew about him. Their conversations were easy, but never went beyond a certain point. He loved this new friend he had made."When you have a friend, don't let them go. Hold on, as tight as you can," he told himself.

He rested his head on the tree and looked up to the sky repeating in his head the two words "hold on." He closed his eyes and dreamed of Eureka again.

»»»»»

**October 4****th****, 1942**

It was a rather gloomy and cloudy Saturday as he walked to his meditation spot. Most in the little town that Renton called home had chosen to stay inside rather than brave the cold October winds.

He enjoyed walking. It was always an invigorating feeling whenever he walked alone. The wind across his face, sifting through his oak brown hair, whipping at the hems of his brother's old coat, felt refreshing to him always.

He usually went alone, but everyone knew where he went, be them friends or foes. His travels inside and outside of the country were known to those in his circle, and some even wondered if perhaps he would travel again after the war was over.

An answer was never given. No one could understand what drove him to leave Europe, and what would drive him to return. He left when he knew that war was a certainty, and now, if he should ever return…no, _when_ he returns, it would be because he knew that this war had harmed all. The innocent people of the world, always fated to be beaten and trampled on by the powerful, would be the ones left writhing in the dust, calling for a spare crumb of food or a loose bit of change to live on the next day when this horrible war would finally end.

But the end would be a long time in coming.

He traveled up over the grassy hill and found his special spot, seemingly untouched by the feet of others.

It was a small stretch of beach along the bay. The air filled with the sound of waves lapping on the shore, the distant cry of birds flying in the dark skies, and the sands of the mortal world shining against the crimson setting sun.

It had been his calming place to think of what he should do about what. A place that eased his restless spirits, and uplifted his emotions to higher places, especially now, when Earth seemed to drag itself deeper and deeper into Hell.

He left his Oxford shoes beside an empty parking space near the edge of the beach, and took off his long black socks with them, placing them inside like a present inside a box. He took a few steps, feeling the sand between his toes and under his heels. The civilized world felt far away, and its problems with it a distant memory long forgotten. For a moment all there was in the world was the beach. The sea. The gulls. The sand. And him.

He found his usual spot and removed his brother's old coat, revealing his white button-down shirt, his worn grey vest, covered in patches of mismatching colors, and grey knickerbockers. Using it as a blanket, he sat down, and simply stared outward into the oceans, pondering, brooding, and wondering.

Farther beyond these shores lay the islands in the Pacific, where his father was risking his life for him and his brother. He imagined him for a moment, sitting in a tent in the pouring rain in some jungle on some unknown island, waiting for an impending attack by the Japanese. Further beyond the islands were the steppes of Russia.

Russia…

The name evoked such a deep range of emotions from him. At one moment, he thought with fondness upon the land that had such deep connections to him. His mother, an expatriate fleeing from the Revolution, had sought a new life. It was the home of Eureka…

Eureka.

Her name rung in his ears, louder than a church bell calling all to service. Eureka, the girl he met in the now blighted city of Stalingrad she calls home, the girl who meant more to him than anyone in this godforsaken earth, the girl whose memory evoked such pain, and yet gave him so much warmth. The one person he wanted to be with more than anyone.

"Eureka…how I miss you."

He hoped his words could be carried across the oceans and he hoped they might reach Eureka's ears. He imagined her, sitting alone in the old family flat, bombed and near collapse, trying hard to retain some of her sanity in this mad world. Her home needn't have become a battlefield, if only Germany had honored its nonaggression treaty with her country. Once they attacked, everything went south. No news of victory by the Soviet forces. No news of turning back the German tide. No news of stopping the seemingly invincible German war machine.

How he wished for a way to grow wings and fly across the oceans and see her again, if only to give her some comfort to face the next day. Perhaps if he could, he could take her away from all the evils and ugliness of the world, and find some quiet place where no one and nothing, not even the war, could touch them. What a wonderful life that would be, away from the horrors of reality.

Sadly, the world is not as simple as that.

"Eureka…please be safe."

As if those words too would find their way across this vast ocean that separated them. Perhaps his prayers would be heard, carried up by the winds to God, who must be looking upon the sinful world with tears in His great eyes, and may finally grant one wish to one remaining righteous person in the dominion of his creation.

He felt a presence, breaking his isolation and solitude on this little plot he devoted to himself. He was no longer alone. Then a voice, sweet and sugary, addressed him.

"Renton?"

He looked over his shoulder, seeing her bright face and long blonde hair. She wore a flowing dress to match her eyes, all covered by a faded blue hooded cloak to shield her from the cold. She shuddered, a chill racing down her spine.

"You're cold," he said, offering his coat. "Come sit."

She smiled at his offer and stepped to the edge of the parking space.

"I didn't think this place would be known to anyone except me."

Jane chuckled as she slipped off her penny loafers and removed her white stockings. "It was easy to find. Were you trying to keep it a secret?"

"Perhaps."

She sat down beside Renton, who slid over to one side and offered her a part of his brother's coat.

"Why are you alone here?"

"I like coming here alone," he said quietly. "It's a good place to sit and think."

"I interrupted you. I'm sorry…"

"No, it's okay," Renton assured her, laughing. "My mind was just wandering anyway."

He looked out again towards the sea, and his mind wandered back to Eureka. Why did they have to be separated by oceans? Why could she not have been born here, away from the horrible fighting?

Jane looked to him, seeing that he was deep in thought, searching for an answer to an unknown question he could hold onto tightly.

"What do you see when you look out across the water?" she asked, as if reading his mind.

He wondered what he should tell her, afraid of what she might think of him. He remained aloof from the world, barred by his own volition, thinking no one else could understand what he searched for in the deep skies and across the vast oceans.

"I see a world that is tearing itself apart just as quickly as we try to put it back together. I see my father, fighting to keep me and my brother safe. I see memories, old but not forgotten, just wanting to be revisited. I see a world to which I desperately want to go to, but cannot."

"You have a lot on your mind," Jane said gently.

He turned to her, looking in her blue eyes, and posed the same question.

"What about you? What do you see when you look across the water?"

Jane sighed, looking out across the vast Pacific, searching for something so desperately, but seemed long out of her grasp.

"I see a home I can no longer return to. I see my brother, fighting somewhere in the deserts. I see old opportunities left behind…and new ones."

"What are the old opportunities?"

"The start of a life back in London."

"And the new ones?"

"The chance for a new life here."

He looked out to the sea, trying to find the answer to his great questions in the sparkling water, but instead found nothing. Nor did he expect to find anything.

"Do you think the war will end?" Renton asked.

"It has to end some time," Jane replied with a sigh. "You say your friends always talk about the war. What do you personally think of it?"

"I don't like it. I hate it. And all I want is for it to end soon."

"I think that's what everyone wants right now. Every time I hear about it I can't help but feel that there is nothing I can do to change it."

"That's not true Jane," Renton said. "There is something all of us can do."

She looked to him with doubt in her eyes.

"We can support the people who are fighting. We all have people who are close to us that are off fighting to keep us safe. And if our support can help them win the war, even if only a little, than we can change the how the war ends."

Jane smiled. That was what she was told to do every day, and if she could hope, that might change everything for the better.

"Thank you, Renton. It's been a little hard lately to think positively with all the bad news I've been hearing."

"If we want to win, we have to keep our chins up," Renton said, wearing a small smile, with an ink of rueful doubt. "That's what I always say, anyway."

"Do you have other people close to you fighting, Renton? Besides your father?"

Renton nodded. He had myriad friends who had fallen victim to the ravages of war. Jacques' France was still occupied by the Germans. Eureka's Russia fought on. Yes, those he left behind stood and fought every day against their common enemy. Even Eureka fought on, staring death in the face every day, alone in the city that would soon gain martyrdom.

He felt a need to see her, to find her now. He looked to Jane with a note of longing in his dark green eyes. He liked her, and yet…

…Yet it was Eureka who filled his thoughts always.

But her empathy warmed his heart, which suffered from a hole that had been punched through years before, and now was eating away at him. He smiled, but it was filled with a melancholy that she could sense.

_Eureka, why couldn't you have been born here, where you are safe? Why did we have to be separated by oceans? Why did war have to come to your land, and not mine?_

Why on earth was he wishing for the situation to be reversed, and for his homeland to be under attack? He did not want to partake in the suffering that the rest of the world felt, but somehow he felt if he did not, it would be unfair to the rest of the world, especially to Eureka. He closed his eyes for a moment, and he saw her again. Her dark brown hair shining in the fading evening light, grey eyes calling out to him. They told stories of long ago when threat of war seemed faraway, when there were no boundaries between them. With her happy laughter echoing in his head, only tormenting him further, he moved to get up.

He felt a sudden urge to leave. He needed to think. He needed…her.

_Eureka…there are so many things I still have left to say…_

Jane looked up to him, with a look of concern on her face.

"What's wrong, Renton?"

"I should get back. It's going to rain soon."

Jane held out her hand and didn't feel anything touch her palm. Not a single drop of rain.

"I don't feel any rain…"

"Tilt your head up and see."

Jane looked and saw him, looking upward to the sky as if in search of a God that still had some control over this earth and could determine what direction it should take. Then a bright light stood in his closed eye, and ran down his face, leaving a trail of sadness, marking what he meant by rain.

Jane understood he did have others in the war, and that was precisely what drove him to sadness. She shared his sentiments, and feeling sympathy for the poor boy, stood up and offered him his brother's coat and her hand.

"Yes. It does look like rain."

Renton took both, and they walked off the plot of beach together.

Jane feared what may still happen to this boy she had only met last month. He was a nice boy, but he always seemed in search of something, something far greater than she can ever give him. Still, she wanted to be with him, if only for a little while.

Renton in the meantime thought not of the girl next to him or the sand beneath his feet but rather hearing the continual call that drove him each day further into madness. Eureka continued to call to him. Yes, she had heard his hopes and wishes and sent those of her own. Hope does carry across the oceans and overcome all boundaries.

They walked home together. She had cheered him a little to think of other things. But secretly he calculated the miles he had to cross to Stalingrad. At that moment as they stepped off the beach, he thought he heard her voice. And it uttered a single word.

_Hurry._

* * *

**A/N: Part of the editing involved of this story was expanding Jane's role, becoming more than a mere side character who Renton runs into every now and again and develop her into a balance with Renton and a counterpoint to Eureka. I hope that the editing I've done in this chapter and in the ones to come will show her to be a deeper more layered character than what she was previously. For anyone who would like to give input whatever your criticism is, I would greatly appreciate it. Stay tuned for more updates, as this is just the beginning.**

**Thank you,**

**Jordan**


	3. Chapter 3

******Author's Note: This was one chapter that gave me trouble when I first wrote it, and after going over it, I can see why. I had no grasp of dialogue at all, and it came out stilted and wooden. I'm just glad I've been able go over the chapter again and fix the dialogue to it. I feel it flows much better now. So with that in mind, please read and review. Many thanks.**

* * *

**Chapter Three**

**November 21****st****, 1942**

Another month had passed. Nothing much of interest happened to him during that month. He went through the same routine every week: wake up, get dressed, go to school, come back home, do the homework, go to bed. Few things of interest usually happened to him, except for maybe an unexpected visitor, someone like Moondoggie or Matthieu…or Jane.

He was just beginning to enjoy his Saturday afternoon sitting back in his chair sipping a Coke and listening to Edward R. Murrow when he heard a knock at the door. Could it be Willie? No; he doesn't come home for two hours. Is it Moondoggie? No; he's probably down at the library doing his homework he missed the day before. Who is knocking at my door? The thought then entered his head: Jane.

_Why would she visit me?_

Did she forget the homework? No; from what he knew of her, she is a good student. Why? Why, then? The rat-tat-tat of the door broke his train of thought. He got up groaning, since he had been sitting for a while and walked to the front door. Before he opened it, he asked who it is. Then he heard a familiar voice.

"What've you been doing all this time, Renton? Were you reading one of your books again?"

"Jane?"

"Who else?" she laughed.

"What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to see you."

"To see me?"

"Yes. I've been hearing some things concerning you."

Renton stood silent for a while trying to think of what in the world she was talking about. Then he remembered. One day in mid-October, he had secretly told Moondoggie that he was going to Russia for Christmas to see if Vladimir and Eureka were all right. The others must've heard me, he thought. Those little sneaks! No matter. It's over and done with now.

"Why don't you come in?" Renton asked.

Silence.

He took that to mean a yes and opened the door to find that it was raining heavily outside and he saw Jane standing on his doorstep, carrying an umbrella and wearing her usual blue dress and pink ribbon in her hair. She walked into the house and seemed struck by how small it was. He didn't talk for a few moments and just allowed her to get acquainted with his home. About ten minutes passed as Jane explored the single floor bungalow that was his home.

She then approached Renton who was now sitting in his chair reading the headlines of the newspaper and listening to the radio. She stood there waiting for him to acknowledge her. Renton looked up at her. She had a great deal of concern and fear in her face, like she hadn't heard from her brother in weeks and feared him dead. Renton shut off the radio and let Jane take a seat on the little white sofa next to the chair. They were silent for a while as they just looked at each other.

The instant Jane looked into his eyes, she wasn't afraid, but entranced. She thought he was staring into her soul. She wanted to turn away, but those eyes had a magnetic effect on her. She could look nowhere else but into his eyes. They seemed to be daggers to her, stabbing her with every second that passed with his solemn determined stare, cutting deep down to her soul. She closed her eyes and broke herself from the trance. She opened her eyes again to look down at her shoes. She had to focus and not get lost, especially for what she wanted to say to him. She raised her head slowly until her eyes met his. Renton then spoke.

"What's troubling you?" he asked.

"Renton, I heard that you were going somewhere for Christmas."

"Did you come over here just to tell me that?" he asked incredulously.

"No. I heard you were going someplace…dangerous," she said shakily, with a great deal of concern in her tone.

"Who told you that?"

"Moondoggie."

"I thought so."

"Renton, please tell me where it is you are going."

Renton sat in silence. Was she serious? Why did she want to know so badly? Did Moondoggie tell her everything or just that he was going somewhere? Now Jane was asking him where.

_Should I tell her? Should I admit that I am going to Stalingrad? Will she try to stop me if I admit it now?_

He sat thinking all this for a few minutes, trying to decide what to say. Jane just sat there, waiting patiently for his response. Renton breathed a deep exasperated sigh. There was no way to hide it now, and he could never lie to one of his friends. Damn, he thought. He couldn't tell a lie for anything. He never was afraid of speaking the truth, even if it landed him in trouble. He cursed inwardly at his trapped position.

_Why do I have to be so honest all the time? There's no use hiding it. Just say it._

"I'm going to Stalingrad," he said with a deep sigh.

Jane's eyes widened in shock and disbelief. Was he serious? Why in the hell would he go _there_ of all places? There's nothing for him there.

"Renton, please tell me you're not serious," Jane said in disbelief.

"I _am_ serious," Renton said, his words striking true like arrows.

"Renton if you go, you'll be killed!" she cried, utterly distraught and confounded that he would do something that seemed so foolhardy.

"Jane, I must go," he said, with a heavy dose of seriousness in his words. "There's someone there who needs my help…"

Renton sat up, staring down at his feet, still cursing at himself inwardly that he had not been able to do anything until now.

"…and needs it now more than ever."

"Who do you know in Russia?" asked Jane skeptically.

"Someone that I left behind long ago. Someone who has a family. And someone who does not deserve all that is happening in her…"

He corrected himself, not wanting to offend Jane for mentioning that there was another over in another country. He loved her already as a friend…but…but…

"…_their_ home."

"I don't understand. How do you know someone in Russia?"

"I visited Russia when I traveled with my father through Europe before the war."

"I thought you went to England?" she said, confused.

"I did, but that wasn't the only place I went to. I went to France, Switzerland, Germany, Poland, and Russia during my trip with my father."

Jane remained silent, still trying to discern why he, a seemingly sensible boy, would attempt such a dangerous stunt. Even if he did have someone he knew in Russia, why would he still risk his neck for someone that he must not have seen in perhaps four, even five, years? Anyone else would have long forgotten about anyone he or she had met and since parted ways with. So what drove him to commit such a suicidal act?

"Renton, you can't go," she said, in a desperate plea.

Renton sighed and walked over to the kitchen window, not wanting to hear something he had been told over and over again. Moondoggie had told him before that he would only set himself up for death by travelling to a place where the best one could hope for was to not have a bullet await one. He didn't care about death at this point now; that was the least of his worries. No, what drove him was the call of that one girl that haunted his thoughts since he stepped off the shores of Russia those four long years ago. Even if he did die, he would not be the least regretful for what he did. It was the only thing he could do…for her.

"There is nothing else I can do _but_ go," he said, as if he had been handed his own fate on a slip of paper.

"Why must you?" Jane cried to him, as if he was already taking his final steps off from his place in the mortal world and into the arms of death. "Why must you go to where there is a battle raging? Why must you go help someone who might already be _dead_?"

Renton's head shot up, and he turned a flaming hazel eye to his blonde ocean-blue eyed friend. She _dared_ to suggest that such a possibility exist? She had the very guts, nay, the _nerve_ to even entertain the thought of his Eureka…she…?

"I know _they_ are not dead. And I know SHE is not dead."

Jane's eyes opened in shock. She? The person he wanted to fight for was a girl? Renton had never told her anything about another woman from afar. Now she was even more opposed to him going than ever if it was over a girl, a girl that was somehow invading her territory.

"She, Renton? Is that what this is about? Another woman?"

Renton cursed inwardly. He said to himself he would not let her know about Eureka, and now he let the cat out of the bag. Now he faced an inquisition, feeling Jane's eyes staring at him demanding an answer.

"Well, Renton? What is she to you?" She then asked with venom in her voice. "A friend? A lover? Or just some peasant you're trying to waste your time for?"

"Before you think of anything else, she is a friend I left behind."

"Left behind?" she repeated, her tone softening. "How long have you known each other?"

"The last time I saw her was four years ago. Before this blasted war started."

"Oh...I see," she responded back with a smile.

It was easy to see that this girl didn't really pose an immediate threat to her. At least not at the moment.

"Then do you still oppose me in going?"

"Yes...I do," she muttered softly staring at the floor. "I just don't see why...you would risk your life for someone so far away."

Renton sighed, seeing that it would take more than simply showing her who he knew back in Stalingrad to convince her. He took a seat on a barstool near his small kitchen and twirled around to face her.

"Jane let me ask you something. You say you have a brother in the 8th Army. Wouldn't you give everything if you had a chance to see him again?"

"Well...yes..." she said looking into his strong piercing hazel eyes. "I'd do anything."

"If you had to go to him to see him, wherever he was right now, would you do it?"

"I would...if I had the chance," she sighed. "But...I don't think it'll ever happen."

"That's where you and I think differently," Renton chuckled. "That's all I am doing here. But I know that if I just sit idly by, and let things in Stalingrad continue as they are, I know that there may not be another chance for me to see her and the others again."

"May I ask you something?" she solicited, the entreating glimmer of her eyes never fading.

"What is it?"

"Is she...really that precious of a friend that you'd risk everything for her?"

Renton sat up, his hazel eyes glinting, without an ounce of hesitation or second thought, showing the strong determination he had for going on this damn adventure he would otherwise not take part in.

"I would not think of going if she was not important to me."

"I suppose that is true," she said with a smile. "You really do amaze me Renton."

"How so?" he asked, eyebrow raised in slight confusion.

"Just by how committed you are to those around you. I've never met anyone else like that."

"That's how friends are supposed to be Jane," Renton chuckled. "My friends...here and abroad...taught me that a long time ago."

"That is true. You've always been loyal to us."

"And I will never stop being that way, Jane. Not now, not ever."

"I hope not," she said with a faint glimmer of hope in her heart.

Figuring that his friend wasn't going to be a problem, her wishes were set on him hopefully falling in love with her like she already was with him even if she hadn't admitted it to him yet.

"So...when are you leaving again?"

"It depends on when the principal will let me, but I hope to leave before the start of December."

"You're leaving during the holidays?" she asked in surprise.

"Have to," he said matter-of-factly. "Otherwise I would not be able to go at all."

"Not very good timing if you ask me," she muttered showing her disgust. "Isn't this time of year better off for spending it with family and friends instead of risking your neck?"

"Jane," he said firmly, his eyes unflinching, "there is no other time I can do this. If I wait any longer, they all may very well be dead. This is the best I can do."

"Are you sure?"

"I would not be going if I wasn't, Jane."

"I guess you are right then," she conceded, knowing that she could not change his mind to reconsider. "I'm going to miss you Renton. It's going to be quiet around here without your light banter keeping us smiling."

"I'll be sure to write," he offered kindly.

"I'll hold you to that Renton," she responded with a smile.

"Do you want pictures too?" he laughed.

"Wouldn't hurt," she giggled.

They both laughed at their trivial requests, each sensing that somehow, they would meet again. The winds of war blew now covering the world in ash and bringing the smell of blood, but it was all temporary. One day, the sun would rise again. One day, Renton would see her face. Jane would see him come ashore again. Perhaps not now, but when it was all said and done, and his duty to his friends fulfilled, everything would be made right again.

"Was there anything else you wanted to talk to me about, Jane?"

"Not really I guess…" she muttered blushing, over what Renton could not discern. "I just want to wish you luck in my own special way."

"How?"

She didn't let hesitation get in her way. She let the feelings she knew to be true ring loud in her heart as she gave him a loving kiss.

Renton was taken aback and by surprise by this move of hers. Never before had he ever been kissed like that. Not even Eureka's lips ever bestowed upon him such a strong and passionate touch. He was left blushing in embarrassment at her kiss, the flavor of her soft lips still on his, tasting slightly of sweet honey and the finest Caribbean sugar. But his thoughts dwelled not on what passed between her lips and his, and rather what words would pass from his lips to Eureka's.

"Safe travels, Renton," she said softly in his ear.

"Th-thanks, Jane."

"You're welcome."

He suddenly felt a mere "thank you" was not enough to show his gratitude. Time and again he had not found support among any of his friends in this endeavor of his, perhaps the riskiest of his life. She was the only one who had supported him. He stood up, and without a single word, or even note of warning, took Jane in his arms in a friendly, deep embrace.

"If I do not come back," he whispered gently, "know that I died happy in the knowledge that at least one person supported me this whole time."

"I'll do that," she whispered into his ears. "Be safe."

"I will, thank you."

"You're welcome again," she whispered with a giggle into his ear. "Goodbye."

And with a final kiss to his cheek, Jane grabbed her jacket and bounded out into the autumn rains towards her home, leaving him alone once more.

He had her in his arms and then just as quickly, she was gone. He smiled wistfully as he walked back to the chair he sat at before, knowing he could not again look back.

He felt the need, the want to let go of her, because she was not the one he sought after. But he couldn't let go, because this new friend he had made was more precious now than ever. He never had much of a family in his life. His mother was dead, his father was away, and his brother almost never in sight. He was alone, except for the people he had made connections with all his life. People like Eureka. Like Jacques. Like Jane. They were the only family he had left. And he would not lose another member of his family to this war. Not after he had lost so much already. That, if nothing else, was the method to his madness.

He sighed longingly, still searching forever in the grand scheme of life for that which answered his questions and quelled his psychosis. But one name found him, and would always repeat. He could only answer the word with a promise he felt needed to be fulfilled, with time fast running out:

"Please be safe, Eureka. I'm coming."

* * *

**Author's Note: For those who wish to know, the next chapters will be taking place in Stalingrad, as Renton gets involved in the fighting. I wrote a lot of combat chapters not just in here but in a previous fiction as well that has since been deleted. I'll be incorporating those into this story. I can only suppose that the reason there have been so few reviews is that there hasn't been much in the way of action. Fear not, for that is coming soon.**

**Please send me any reviews you can. I'm serious about getting this published, so any helpful critiques are well-appreciated by me.**

**Until next time,**

**Jordan**


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: Something I noticed in the original draft of the story was the presence of Gulags, or Soviet work camps for political enemies and undesirables. Renton would not have been able to see these, as they were kept far away from the railways and out of sight of the public. Most in the Soviet Union did not learn about the camps until the very late 1950s. As such, I have done away with Renton's encounter with the Gulags, and instead replaced it with an encounter of a female Soviet soldier. Her presence, while short, proves to be important as you shall see.**

* * *

**Chapter Four**

**November 30****th****, 1942**

**San Francisco Harbor**

It was a close run thing, the nearest run thing he ever experienced in his life. He was amazed that he managed to get that ticket. He had to save up his earnings from his job at the pharmacy just to pay half the cost. Willie had pitched in, too; he gave him a quarter of his weekly pay to cover the other half. Willie knew that Renton was only doing what he thought was right, and he couldn't stand in his way for that.

He had opted to take his exams early, and openly told the administration about his intentions. The principal was impressed by his honesty and frankness of the matter, but weary and concerned for his safety. Renton had a long hard time convincing Mr. Wood to let him go, but finally he said to him, in a sort of plea, "Mr. Wood, I have a friend in Russia who needs my help. I can't just abandon her there; that's not what friends do. I have to help her, because I think it is the right thing to do. Please Mr. Wood; at least consider my friend, who is precious to me."

This moved Mr. Wood. He never before met someone of such impeccable honesty, of such firm commitment, of such loyalty to friendship. He still would not give in however. Renton pleaded and pleaded, until he was on his knees, crying. He looked Mr. Wood straight in the eyes, crying his heart out to him. Mr. Wood couldn't stand to see Renton, one of his best students cry. He gave in, but said a word of warning:

"_Be careful, Renton. You may see many things which no one deserves to see. You may be changed by the horrors of it. You are doing the right thing Renton; don't doubt that for a second, but do take care. I guess all I can say to you is…good luck, son. We'll all be watching you."_

Moondoggie and the others lent him some of their allowance to cover the cost. Renton was very grateful to all of them and thanked them from the bottom of his heart. Moondoggie said to him, in his wise caring manner, "Good luck, and watch yourself! We'll all be watching you. Teach those Jerries a lesson, for all of us!"

Matthieu kidded with him about meeting beautiful young Russians: "careful, Renton! You might meet a female Russian sniper and fall for her. Then you'll be in big trouble!" Matthieu and the others knew about Renton's previous trip to Russia and how he met Vladimir and Eureka. They all poked fun at him about Eureka, but he always asserted that he thought of her as just a good friend.

Jane was probably the most emotional of them all. She cried softly when they saw him off at the harbor, and even gave him an affectionate kiss on the cheek, which left a mark of the lipstick. Jane said quietly to him: "Renton, forgive me for ever questioning you and your intentions. You really _are_ doing the right thing. You taught me something. You taught me that friends _are_ important and really _are_ worth risking one's life to save. I know better now. Please do be careful, and see to it that your friends are safe."

This warmed his heart. All his talks with her had not been in vain; he really had taught her an important lesson in life: the consequences of your actions are not important; what is important is doing the right thing, regardless of the cost.

The ship's whistle blew and it was time to shove off. He boarded the ship, a merchant freighter carrying lend-lease arms to Russia, and went up on deck. He saw the four lone little figures all waving and yelling words of encouragement as the ship left port. He saw Moondoggie saluting him as a show of respect; he saw Matthieu, jumping and waving and yelling and cheering words he couldn't hear because of the ship's whistle; and he saw Jane, with large ocean blue eyes looking onward, golden hair blowing in the cold December wind, waving a handkerchief and saying a silent prayer that he would return. He waved goodbye to them all as the ship drew farther away from the harbor and never stopped waving until they were no longer visible. He then turned and walked to the bow of the ship and looked outward to the San Francisco bay, the Golden Gate Bridge, and the wide open Pacific beyond. He knew that beyond that vast ocean lay the port of Vladivostok, and his passage to the city of Stalingrad, Vladimir, and Eureka. He smelled the salty air and let the cold wind streak through his dirty blonde hair and peachy gray face. He felt a sense of accomplishment and achievement that he owned up to his promise to help Vladimir and Eureka any way he could. Now was the time to look only forward and think of what he can do.

»»»»»

**December 4****th****, 1942**

**Vladivostok Harbor, USSR**

The trip had gone by faster than he thought. He had crossed the Pacific on that little merchant ship in only five days. He had arrived in Vladivostok and was now heading for the train station. He would get to Chelyabinsk by taking the Trans-Siberian Railway and then to Kuybyshev before crossing the Volga by boat to Stalingrad.

The train station was crowded with Russian soldiers heading for Moscow and Leningrad and Stalingrad and God only knows where else. He noticed that all the Russians looked malnourished and cold; they were very thin and shivering. Their mittens didn't cover their fingers, and their uniforms were sometimes little more than rags. Renton felt so sorry for them, but also glad he had dressed warmly: he was wearing a winter cap with floppy earpieces to cover his ears, a black woolen coat Willie had lent him, brown gloves which covered his fingers, wool trousers with homemade patches on them, and old wool socks and brown boots laced up tightly to prevent frostbite. The soldiers looked like they had not eaten anything in a year. They were so thin the uniforms looked too big for them. He offered one of the soldiers a piece of sourdough bread he had taken with him for the trip. The soldier took it gladly and ate it ravenously, as if he hadn't seen food in 10 years. He felt so sorry for him that he gave him a sip of his water canteen, and got three large gulps from the soldier. He patted him on the back out of sympathy and the soldier smiled in gratitude. Renton smiled back as a sign of empathy and understanding.

He finally boarded the train after a half an hour delay. He went straight to his compartment and claimed the top bunk bed. He looked out the window, where he could see the harbor, and hundreds of soldiers boarding other trains bound for parts unknown. Where they were going, he could not tell, and he doubted if they could. It was no matter though, he thought. The important thing is that I got here. I must rest for tomorrow. It'll be a big day. He brought wool flannel pajamas for the cold winter nights, but decided not to put any on, for fear he might freeze while changing. He put away his knapsack filled with rations and his suitcase with clothes in a closet on the other side of the compartment. He climbed back into his bunk and closed his eyes to try to sleep. At that moment the train gave a sudden lurch and started moving, with the sound of the steam engine chugging. It didn't bother him in the least. He was so exhausted he fell asleep right then and there. Nothing could wake him, not even an explosion.

»»»»»

He woke up one day, for what reason he knew not. He slowly raised his head and looked around the bunk, though he knew full well he was alone. He had been alone in his compartment since the day he left Vladivostok. He looked out the lone window of his compartment to find there was nothing but snow outside. It looked as if the train stopped in the middle of nowhere, but why? He went closer to the window to see a small collection of huts. A village.

He got up, quickly changed into his coat and day clothes and went outside into the freezing cold.

It was snowing hard. He had to wrap his scarf up tightly and tie up the ear flaps of his hat to keep warm. He walked into the white abyss, with the the biting cold stinging his face.

He soon walked into the village where soldiers dressed in field green and brown uniforms streamed from the village. As he passed through a street, he saw a scene he once remembered from a picture book played out before his eyes.

At the front doorstep of a house, a young man of about 20 with brown hair and blue eyes was bidding his mother and father goodbye. The parents were in floods of tears that froze on their cheeks to see their only son go to battle, possibly never to return. The father and mother refused to let go of their son from their strong and loving embrace as they wept not out of sorrow, not out of despair, but out of fear.

The young man broke from their embrace and left the parents waving goodbye on the doorstep of the little house as he left, towards the train, towards battles unknown far away, to an uncertain future where the only thing one could hope for is living one day longer.

Renton left the saddening scene and walked further into the village. He soon found a small open field where little children, the eldest never exceeding 12, played and romped in the snow, laughing without a care in the world, sheltered from horrifying war that was playing out on their homeland. He smiled and found a small rock to sit on and watch the children.

One small boy of 10 with blonde hair and brown eyes formed a snowball in his hands and threw it at another boy chasing him, to which he went down faster than a bag of hammers. He soon retaliated with his own snowball and an epic snowball fight ensued between them. Renton laughed at the sight of this innocent game he once took part in his younger days, reminiscing how he once played such games with Eureka very often when he first visited Russia. They spent so much time together, more than all the times he spent with the other people he met in Europe put together. She was the one he always felt closest to and cherished most. He always had fond memories of his times with her, now four years in the past.

I wonder what she is doing right now, he thought as he watched the snowball fight progress.

He then remembered one time, during his last week in Russia, when he and she once ran up the hill Mamaev Kurgan overlooking Stalingrad, never stopping until they reached the top despite being out of breath half way up. They then stood on the top of the hill for a long time, simply looking down on Eureka's native city sitting on the Volga. He remembered how Eureka asked him a question that had bothered him to this day.

"_Rentoshka, if you were destined to stay in Russia forever, or if I was a citizen of your country, would you and I have fallen in love?"_

He never gave a definite answer to that question. And he hated himself for it. Day and night ever since the moment she asked that question, he wondered what he really felt towards Eureka. It was difficult for him to discern, and something he couldn't find the words to describe. He tried to tackle it the way one would a puzzle, putting together different pieces and trying to form a larger picture.

He always felt happy when he was with her. He spent more time with her than anyone else he met. And ever since he left Russia those four long years ago, he never stopped thinking about her.

Perhaps this was what love felt like.

He took his watch out of his coat pocket and viewed the time. It was 10 minutes to 12. Was it midnight or was it afternoon? He couldn't tell. The jetlag was beginning to get to him and he felt very sleepy. He needed his bunk. He needed his sheets. He needed…he needed…

_Eureka. I need you._

He felt a sudden urge to grow wings and fly to Stalingrad, fly to Eureka and the others. Especially to Eureka. He rose from whence he sat and turned back to the train, seeing it was still taking on passengers, all soldiers. He sighed, knowing full well that many of these brave souls would not return to their loved ones here. He picked up his pace and started to run through the snow. He felt in a race, a race against time, and he was rapidly losing time.

He quickly boarded the train at a place that wasn't too crowded and immediately went to his compartment. He soon shut the door and sat on the bottom bunk, breathing a deep heavy sigh. Nothing else mattered at the moment, except the thought of her. Dear God, he thought. What could possibly be happening to her now? What must she be suffering now, with the battle still raging? Please God…please…

"Please God…don't let her die."

"Don't let who die?" said a voice from behind him.

He turned around and saw his compartment door was open and there stood a female soldier, not any more than 18 at the eldest. She had bright sparkling blue eyes and flowing black hair. Her face was round and had the look of a child. She wore a field brown uniform, but no overcoat, leaving her in just her tunic and trousers tucked into black felt boots. She had a garrison cap covering her head, wore a small amused smile on her lips, and carried a Mosin-Nagant bolt-action rifle on her shoulder.

"K-kto vy1?" Renton asked in Russian. (He could speak perfect Russian, having been taught from an early age by his mother.)

"Oh," the girl laughed effeminately, "let me introduce myself. Private First Class Sonia Zuilimova. And you?"

Renton stood up and extended his hand to Sonia.

"Renton. Renton Ivanovich Thurston." Sonia giggled at the name as she shook his hand.

"That's no Russian name I've heard of." Renton blushed at that comment and chuckled nervously.

"That's because it isn't one. Not fully Russian, anyway."

"You're American, pravda2?"

"Da, ya amerikanets3."

"You're a long way from home then," Sonia laughed, letting go of his hand and walking into the compartment, setting down her rifle and knapsack. "What's an American like you doing so far out here?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," Renton replied, walking back inside and taking off his boots.

"Try me," Sonia said with a trusting smile. "I've heard my share of interesting stories."

Renton laughed. He liked this girl, even if he only knew her for about 10 minutes. He climbed up into his bunk and started to tell as much as he could remember.

"I first came to Russia about four years ago, when I was traveling through Europe with my father, and I met people there. People who are very important to me. In short that's why I am here."

"Where do these people live?"

Renton hesitated for a moment. He feared that if he said anything more this girl would stop him. However his desire to be honest overruled his hesitance.

"S…Stalingrad." Sonia looked at him wide-eyed.

"You DO know there is a battle going on there, right?"

"That's not going to stop me from helping them."

"All the same, it seems like a reckless thing for someone to do. What if the people you know in Stalingrad are dead?"

"I know for a fact that they aren't," Renton said defensively, scowling. "I would have heard something if they were."

"How?" she asked inquisitively.

"We exchange letters. And the last time Vladimir wrote me, he and his family weren't dead."

"I see," said Sonia, looking up at the boy she had made an acquaintance with for the last 20 minutes.

He had a young face, looking not 17 at the eldest. His skin was a pale peachy grey with no freckles or spots of any kind. His eyes were a stern hard hazel, glinting in the light from the window shining through the snow. The hair was a dark oak brown, faded from years of worrying and brooding over the friends he had lost so long ago. His lips were thin and indistinguishable from the rest of his face, almost white and close to cracking. There was a sense of sadness about him, a bottle filled with so many words to say but was never given the chance to be opened.

"Tell me more about them," Sonia said politely.

"Well…they were a family of four brothers and one sister. And I planned on leaving by ship at Stalingrad but the ship had engine trouble, so we couldn't leave Stalingrad for three weeks, so their family offerd their home to us to use. And we've been friends ever since."

"Despite your only being there for three weeks."

"Yeah. What about you? What's your story?"

Sonia laughed as she knelt down and took out some things from her knapsack, placing them in a small drawer under the bunk.

"My story is far less interesting. I was born in this village, and have lived here all my life. And ever since the war came, I have wanted to join the army."

"Why didn't you join earlier?"

"Partly because I was too young and partly because my parents wouldn't let me go."

"I see. Tell me, why are you joining the war?"

"To halt the fascist invasion of course. To save our country!"

"That's everyone's reason. But what's _your_s?"

Sonia hesitated, knowing that Renton was getting at something much deeper than a stock reason to fight. She wondered if such a man as Renton could be trusted having only known him for a short while. Then she suddenly remembered all the times confiding in her friends her true reason of joining, the real method behind the madness she was getting herself into. She sighed and looked up to Renton, and their eyes met, and for a moment, they could see inside the other.

"I wanted to get out of my village. See the world."

"The adventure route, huh?" Renton chuckled. "I can't say I blame you."

"I've never been anywhere else except my little village. And I am destined to live a boring unfulfilling life if I stay in my village. That's why…that's…."

"You want to see what the world has to offer you by fighting?"

"In short…yes. This was the only way I could get out of my village, since my parents were so strict in keeping me cooped up here."

Renton chuckled. He remembered how he had similar thoughts and optimisms when he and his father traveled across the world those four long years ago. He saw the world all right, but he saw the evils in the world as well. He saw the injustices suffered by innocents at the hands of the strong. He saw good and kind people cheated and duped by ill-designing men. But he still found beauty in the world through what he saw and the people he met. The people he never forgot since those four years ago.

"You are right that there is much to see in the world," Renton said thoughtfully, "but there are still many things in the world that no one deserves to see."

"My father said the same thing to me once when I ventured too far from my village. But I don't want to be a bird trapped in a cage! I want to fly! I want to see everything the world has to offer!"

Renton looked at her intently, his hazel eyes glinting.

"I felt the same as you four years ago when I first traveled outside my home."

At his words, they both heard a heavy closing of the doors to the passenger cars and then a whistle from the engine. Then the train gave a sudden lurch forward sending Sonia onto her back on her bunk.

"And that's the start of our journey," Renton thought out loud to himself.

"Yes, indeed."

"Tell me, where are you being deployed?" Sonia chuckled lightly.

"Apparently, the same place as you." Renton looked down on Sonia from his bunk, and saw her smiling at him, her blue eyes shimmering like the moon reflected on the ocean.

"You're going to Stalingrad as well?"

"Mhm," she nodded. "Looks like we'll be finding your family friends together." Renton chuckled.

"That's comforting. It'd be boring if it were just me looking for them."

Sonia chuckled as she unpacked a few more things from her knapsack, laying them out on her bunk.

"Tell me more about the family, Renton," Sonia asked politely. "They must be wonderful people to let you use their home for three weeks."

"They _were_ wonderful people. They were a second family to me. I spent more time with them than with any other person I met while traveling."

"What would you do together?"

Renton chuckled and remembered the many days he spent with Eureka and her brothers playing and laughing without a care in the world. Before this awful war.

"We did a lot of things together. We would go swimming in the river or play in a treehouse that the brothers and sister built. Sometimes we would just lie on the hill and look down on the city."

"Sounds like you had a lot of fun."

"It was a lot of fun, until the day came when I had to leave them all. But I promised them I would come back one day. And now, I'm fulfilling that promise."

Sonia laughed and they talked on all night until sleep decreed for them to take on the veil of slumber, but as the train sped through the wintry Russian steppes, Renton thought not of the friend he had made in the compartment he shared but rather of the girl still waiting for him in the burning and besieged city.

»»»»»

Several more days passed, and the train had arrived in Chelyabinsk. Their next stop was Kuybuyshev where they would receive a boat that would take them down the Volga to Stalingrad. Still he managed to pass the days knowing Sonia better. They now knew each other enough to call the other "friend". In fact only yesterday did he reveal to her about the Koslovs' little sister Eureka, whom he missed the most out of all the people he had met. Sonia took a liking to teasing him about it, which Renton of course felt embarrassed about. Sonia however seemed to show concern at Renton's absence of interest in pursuing a relationship with her. If he waited too long, she might lose interest and move on to someone else, and Renton seemed like such a nice boy to be with.

That day, Renton had gone out of the compartment to walk around the train to stretch his legs and get something from the kitchen car. Sonia stayed behind to slip into her nightclothes since it was almost 9 at night. She intended to catch Renton in an embarrassing situation, that is, if he could come back to the compartment.

Renton was sitting near the entry door to one of the cars, looking out at the snow-covered steppes that sped past the window as the train rocketed onward. Somewhere beyond that haze of white, somewhere beyond those snowy plains, lay Stalingrad. And somewhere in that city, in that burning battered city on the brink of complete destruction, was a little girl patiently waiting for him to return. He sighed, wondering what must be happening to that poor creature, trapped in the middle of a battle that had consumed her home. Why did this blasted war have to happen? Why did people like Hitler or Mussolini or Hirohito have to exist to cause so much injustice in the world? Why couldn't there ever be peace?

_Oh Eureka…what happened to us? Why did this war have to come about? Why did your country have to be invaded by Germany? Why is it that the innocents in the world are always the ones to suffer? What happened to us, Eureka? What happened to the days that were filled with peace? Where did all those days go?_

_What happened to us, Eureka?_

Renton sighed and went to the kitchen car to see if he couldn't get anything to eat, but he found it was closed. He had come too late. His stomach gurgled, crying out for nourishment. He grumbled to himself and fished out a small piece of sourdough bread he kept in his pocket and ate it up rather quickly. Then he stood up and looked around for a moment to get his bearings; he was in the vestibule between the kitchen car and one of the passenger cars. Which one, he could not remember. Spinning on his heel he went through the door of the vestibule and into the next car, which he thankfully found to be his. Breathing a sigh of relief fearing for a moment he had gotten lost, he trotted down the hall of the car to the number of his compartment. He found the door was slightly ajar and opened it slowly.

"Say, SoniaAAAH!"

"Renton!"

Renton had walked in on Sonia at the most unwanted time; he had caught her in the midst of changing. She only had a pair of lace-trimmed underwear that covered her lower regions and a matching brassiere that covered up her mature breasts. He stood there frozen for a moment, unable to move a muscle in his body from a sheer panic and unsureness of what to do.

He soon backed out of the compartment and shut the door behind him, saying to her through the door in a shaky voice,

"I'm terribly sorry about that!"

He could hear Sonia laugh uncontrollably through the door. His heart pounded with the beat of a war drum as sweat ran down his neck and soaked his coat collar. He waited a few more minutes and then heard Sonia's voice say:

"You can come in now, Renton. I'm decent."

"If you say so…"

He slowly opened the door and found Sonia sitting on the bunk wearing a white nightgown, a large smirk across her face as she could hardly constrain herself from laughing.

"U tebya khorosho4?"

"D-da, u menya khorosho. Sorry for barging in like that."

"I should have locked the door properly, so don't worry. But…"

She leaned over a bit and gave off an inviting view of her mature chest.

"…did you like what you saw?"

Renton felt his face heat up as he struggled to find words. It was harder than finding a needle in a haystack. He had to think of something to say though.

"A little…"

"Just a little?" Sonia said making a pouting face.

"No, I like it a lot!" Renton said, not wanting to offend Sonia.

"You pervert…" Sonia said slyly.

"No I didn't mean it like that!" Renton said, quickly getting flustered. He didn't know the right words to speak!

He suddenly remembered a moment of his times with Eureka. It was when she asked that question that haunted his mind ever since, and he acted this same way to her which left her wanting and still desperate for an answer. And from that day he hated himself for never giving the answer that he always wanted to give. He felt like crying, for all the times he never said the right things to her. The urge to go to her and apologize for all his wrongs became stronger as he fell onto his knees, and felt a tear slip from his eye and fall on the palm of his hand.

Sonia saw that her newfound friend was in pain and quickly put a stop to her ploy. She knelt down and tried to comfort Renton, rubbing his hand and whispering soft words.

"What's wrong, Renton?"

"Eureka…" he whispered.

"Did I make you think of her?" Renton nodded shakily in response. "Forgive me, I didn't think that—"

"No, it's my fault. This is _all_ my fault. I was never direct with her. I never once thought about how I felt toward her…and now…after so many years…"

Sonia could easily tell Renton was in great pain, and smiled softly as she told Renton a few encouraging words.

"I am sure Eureka misses you very much, Renton. And I have no doubt that if you go back to her, that will more than make up for any wrongs you have done her."

Renton looked up at Sonia and found kindness in her sparkling blue eyes.

"You're just saying that…"

"No, I mean it. Because you see…" she placed her hand on her heart and blushed. "I have someone too."

"You?" Renton said, his piercing green eyes widening in surprise.

"Mhm," Sonia said kindly, nodding. "He means a lot to me too."

Renton wiped away a tear from his green eye and straightened his posture, looking at Sonia, kindness and fondness of memory glimmering in her shining blue eyes. She remembered the last she saw of him when he left their village; the reassuring look in his face, the optimistic glow in his doe brown eyes saying "I will return." And the final wave of goodbye as he boarded a train and headed off to a battlefield far away, knowing the fateful prospect of never returning home to greet her again.

"Is he deployed in Stalingrad too?"

"No, Central Front, near the Moscow region."

"It's too bad. I really wanted to meet him."

"Did you?"

"He must have been a nice person."

"He was," she said with a distinct fondness in her voice. "He really was. He was a lot like you, actually."

"Pravda?"

"Da. He always had a smile on his face…he was considerate, and loving. He was someone that you knew you could spend the rest of your life with if you wanted to." Renton blushed slightly, taking it as a compliment for him.

"He sounds like a really great guy."

"You're a good man, too, Renton."

Renton's ears pricked up at this, and she heard a short embarrassed gasp from him as his piercing green eyes widened from hearing this. He then hung his head down and shook his head. He didn't deserve such praise. The compliments she gave him were not merited at all. How could they be? After so much time he had left her, and never was there for her when times were their darkest, how did he deserve such a title of a "good man"?

"I don't deserve that title," he said, sniffling. "Not after all the wrongs I have done her. I promised I would always be there for her, even when we were apart. I promised I would comfort her when she felt troubled, whenever she needed a shoulder to lean on. And yet…yet…"

"Renton…"

"I've gone back on my words to her! I don't deserve any praise I get for that!" he buried his face in his hands and the tears of guilt overflowed from his eyes, as Sonia patted his back and comforted him the way one would a frightened child.

"Renton, that is where you are wrong. You are upholding a promise to her as we speak."

"What is that?"

"You're going back to her, are you not?"

Renton stopped and looked at Sonia, and her face had turned into a small comforting smile, her blue eyes sparkling and letting Renton know he had nothing to dread or regret. He _was_ keeping his word. He _was_ fulfilling the promise they made those four years ago. It was because of her and the thought of her suffering in the city under siege was what made him come all this way, out of the comfort and safety of his home to her old Motherland in the first place. It was because of her that he was doing all this, and he was willing to shoulder any burden he was dealt. He would do it because he cared about her. Her and no one else. Renton's eyes stopped watering, and his lips slowed in their tremble, coming back to a steady pursed status as he looked at his newfound friend, the only new friend he had made so far in this place he considered a second home.

"Do you believe me Renton?" Renton smiled and nodded firmly.

"Da, I do."

"Then stop worrying," Sonia said smiling. "You are doing the right thing. You were since the moment you stepped on the train. I know you miss her very much, and I know she must miss you just as much if not more. If you go back to her, it will make up for whatever you have done to slight her or earn her scorn. If you care about her enough, you will find her. And I'll be there to help you however I am able."

"Thank you, Sonia."

"Now then, let's get to bed, shall we?"

Renton chuckled and nodded as Sonia rose and climbed into her bunk bed on the bottom and Renton went up to his bunk on the top. They quickly fell asleep as the train sped on to Renton's ultimate goal. If he could just get a little further. If he could just survive what's going on in the city. If he could do all that, he would find her. And Sonia would be there to support him. That thought gave him shelter and comfort as his eyes slowly closed and the thought of Eureka occupied his dreams for the rest of the night.

1 "Who are you?" (formal) in Russian.

2 Pravda: Russian for truth or correctness

3 "Yes, I am American."

4 "Are you all right?" in Russian

* * *

**Author's Note: The next chapter will be set in Stalingrad, as Renton becomes involved in the fighting. Not much editing was done in this regard, with the exception of adding Sonia into the mix. Please be so kind as to read and review this as well as the preceding chapters. I shall greatly appreciate any and all comments sent. Many thanks.**

**Jordan**


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: Something I added to the story was giving background for Renton and Eureka's relationship. Their parting in 1938 was added to the first chapter, but some people raised concerns over how Renton would go back to Russia for someone he knew for such a short time. Then I had the idea of incorporating letters of correspondence into the story; the way they still remember each other is by keeping in contact with each other for four years. This will be included in this chapter as well as subsequent chapters focusing on combat. With that in mind, read on, review and enjoy.**

* * *

**Chapter Five**

_1__st__ September, 1939_

_Dear Eureka, _

_I write to you on what I've just realized is the first full year I've been away from you, but I only wish I could bear you good tidings from this side of the Pacific. I heard the most dreadful news today, one that I know will have grave consequences for not just you and I, but for all of us. Based on what I've heard on the radio and seen in newspapers, Germany has launched a surprise invasion of Poland, without any declaration of war. I am sure by the time this letter reaches you, you will have already learned of what has happened. Every time I ask Father or brother for the reasons why, they never answer me. Father only shakes his head solemnly, as if he's a spectator to a gruesome crime. Most of us back home are deeply shocked and horrified that something like this has come to pass. _

_Father used to tell me often of the carnage and cruelty of the Great War that ended only 30 years ago. He and many others like him said to me that would be the "war to end all wars." Well, we both know how wrong that is, now, don't we, Eureka?_

_My greatest fear, however, is the thought that this conflict will spill over, as all conflicts inevitably do. There is talk that Britain and France will be taking Poland's side. Some in my neighborhood even think that we'll join the conflict as well. I have doubts of it, though; we are in no condition to fight. Our economy has not gotten much better in the past 10 years, or so I am told, and to enter war now would bankrupt the nation. _

_Eureka, has your father or anyone else you know spoken about joining the war against Germany? I fear it may only be a matter of time before your country does. Surely the world cannot stand by and let such blind aggression go unimpeded. My only hope is that you are not caught up in it, whatever decision your country reaches. Please let me know what will happen, in any case. I cannot bear the thought of you being hurt or mixed up in this business. _

_That is all I can write to you for now. Give my best to your brothers and tell your father we are keeping you all in our prayers. May God watch over you all and protect you in these trying times._

_I remain as ever your own,_

_Renton_

**December 14****th****, 1942**

**Approaching Stalingrad, USSR**

They arrived at Kuybyshev a couple days later and soon boarded a boat packed with soldiers which floated down the cold Volga River. He and she stood amongst them and looked around. They were all dressed meagerly with holes in their coats and trousers. Some of them didn't even have shoes or helmets. They looked like a large ragtag band of armed peasants. Several hours passed as he fell asleep standing up because there was no place to sit. He was suddenly awakened by a large explosion. He looked up to see the ruins of Stalingrad.

The city looked completely destroyed. All the buildings he remembered having seen when he first came here four years ago had all but vanished. Little remained from years past. The buildings were now nothing more than piles of rubble. He saw men in trenches trying desperately to take the ridge overlooking the ferry landings, men shooting, crying, bleeding and dying.

"This is it," Sonia said to her new friend.

"Yeah…" Renton replied, simply lost in the destruction of his second home. "It looks a lot different from what I remembered."

"Because of the war," she said knowingly. "It's all the fault of this war."

"I know. That's why we have to end it. Swiftly and decisively. So we can all rebuild what we've lost."

"Amen."

Renton looked to his new comrade, his new friend in this, his second home. She felt his gaze and looked down at the smiling 16-year-old boy, so full of life and yet undeserving of all this misery they were about to experience. He looked uncertain and fearful, unknowing of all that was about to occur, the only thing known to him for certain was the fact he could die at any minute. He tugged at her tunic sleeve, looking up with fearful anxious piercing green eyes, the eyes of a child scared by something new. Sonia smiled kindly on her new friend and spoke gently, the way a caring mother would.

"What's wrong Renton?" she asked.

"Sonia…do you promise me that you will stay by me until I find Eureka? Do you promise me that you will help me look for them?" Sonia chuckled and rubbed Renton's head full of oak brown hair.

"Don't worry yourself, Rentoshka," Sonia said reassuringly. "I'll watch your back until you find your friends."

"Spasibo1, Sonia," Renton replied, his green eyes brightening at her vow. Sonia smiled lightly at the bright and hopeful look at the young boy.

"Pazhalusta, Rentoshka."

Renton's cheeks turned a light shade of crimson at the affectionate nickname Sonia had bestowed upon him. The only person who ever called him by that name was Eureka. Eureka and no one else. He thought for a few moments what horrors she must be suffering now as the fight dragged on. He was so close to her that he could sense her, somewhere in that city. He felt her presence with him, saw the dark wavy hair, the caring eyes, heard her soothing gentle voice, and felt her smooth touch. Somewhere in that city, he thought, she is waiting for me. His gaze turned to the city again but unlike before, neither he nor she seemed to be concerned with what was in front of them and what he had left behind. For a few moments, they simply forgot about everything else. They didn't seem to notice the bombs flying and shells bursting everywhere and landing on the ice, cracking the ice and opening up the cold freezing Volga. Everything else seemed to fade away as their promise was the only thing that kept both of their attention. However, nothing is ever as idealistic or as simple as that.

The boat ran aground on the frozen part of the Volga, and threw him and the other soldiers about. Suddenly the orders from chief of the boat came:

"Clear the boat! GO! GO! GO! Get out there! We need you, comrades! The fate of the Motherland rests in your efforts! Be brave, comrades, and do not take one step back! DEATH TO THE NAZI INVADER!"

At this, all the soldiers chanted back, "death to the Nazi invader!" as they climbed out of the boat and ran across the frozen river to the docks. He and Sonia were literally forced out of the boat by the many men climbing out and rushing forward. Bullets whizzed about the two of them and spoke words they never heard before, a storm of death, noise and chaos raining all around them. It was only when they had taken not 15 paces out of the boat and running to the docks when Renton heard someone groan in pain behind him. He turned around, and the most horrible sight met his eyes.

He saw Sonia falling to her knees, her Mosin-Nagant rifle slipping out of her hands and falling on the cold cutting ice. Her ocean blue eyes were widened in the shock her body could not bear. There was a bloody red blotch on her tunic where her left breast resided, which grew larger as she fell to the ground. He could hear her labored breathing as everything else slowed down. He ran back to her and knelt by her side, placing her head in his hand as he tried to stop the bleeding with his other hand, flooding it with warm red blood.

"Sonia…no…don't you die on me now, Sonia! We only just got here! I have only known you for so long!"

Sonia smiled weakly and extended a bloody hand to Renton, and he held it tightly, ignoring the other soldiers who ran past them, and ignoring the shouts of officers urging them onward. He blocked out all the noise and destruction and death…including the one happening before his eyes. She can't die now! He had only known her for little under two weeks! They had only just promised they would look out for each other until Renton found who he was looking for. She hasn't even met Eureka yet! She can't die now! She just…she can't.

"I'm…sorry…Rentoshka. It looks like you'll have to find Eureka on your own."

"NO!" Renton cried, feeling as helpless as an abandoned child. "I won't have it! You can't die now, Sonia! I only just met you! I've only been your friend for so long! I…I…I haven't even introduced you to Eureka yet!" Sonia weakly shook her head and gave Renton's hand a gentle squeeze.

"But…you did. You introduced me to someone else too."

"I did? What do you mean?"

Sonia raised a free hand and placed it on Renton's chest.

"M…me?"

"Da…you have shown me…that you are a good man…Rentoshka. That…Eureka is lucky to have a man like you."

Renton's eyes widened as he felt her grip on life slowly weakening. Her hand was becoming limp and her breathing was more labored and heavier than before. Renton's eyes watered as he squeezed her hand tighter, not wanting to let go of this new friend he had made in his second home. It couldn't end like this! After only a few weeks of knowing each other! It just can't end like this!

"Renton…promise me something…"

"Anything, my friend," Renton said, trying to keep a smile as small tears ran down his face, freezing in the cold winter air.

"When you see Eureka…when you finally find her…I want you…to…"

"What do you want me to do, Sonia?"

"I want you…to let her know how much…how much she means to you. And when you have her…"

She then weakly pulled him by the collar of his black coat and whispered in his ear.

"…don't ever let her go."

The dam that held back his tears was broken as tears of sorrow flooded down his face as his mouth turned into a small smile, strong, and resolute. He was not afraid of what lay ahead. He was not afraid of dying in his second home. Why should he be? He came all this way to find the ones dearest to him. Why should he hesitate and turn back now when he was so close, and when he had traveled so far to come here, to the city he had come to love? He would not turn back now. He would go forward, and if, God forbid, he should die then at least he would die with his conscience clear and doing what he felt was right.

He took his other hand off her wound and pressed it to her hand on his collar, and said quietly,

"I promise Sonia. I won't let go of her. Ever."

Sonia smiled and exhaled heavily, her grip on life at its weakest. Renton held onto her hand tightly as if for dear life, as if to prevent her from falling into that chasm between the mortal realm and the afterlife known as death. His cheeks were moist with the tears of grief at losing a friend here, the first friend here that he had lost. And a friend whom he had only known for so long.

"Thank you, Renton. Now…go. Go…and find her. And don't lose her again."

Her pulse disappeared, her head and arms went limp and she died, with a small contented smile on her face.

Renton pressed her body to him closely and said quietly,

"I'll find her. I won't lose her again. I won't ever let her go. I promise."

He laid her body on the cold smooth ice, wiping away one final tear, saying goodbye to the new friend he had made. The friend he only knew for a little while, but the friend who reminded him the importance of his mission, the method behind this madness of this endeavor. He stood up on his spiked boots, a tear falling on the ice. He turned away from the form of Sonia and ran, thinking not of what he left behind on the ice, but of what lay ahead of him.

He ran across the river as best he could without slipping. Good thing my boots have spikes, he thought. He soon made it across the river and arrived at the docks. He did not have the least notion of what to do. How was he to find Vladimir amidst this chaos? There were soldiers scrambling everywhere, trying to find some cover, with officers standing on piles of boxes screaming through megaphones about the glory of dying for the Motherland and for Stalin. He agreed partly, but he was annoyed by the tone of the chanting and shouting. It seemed to him that they took the sentiment he shared to the extreme. He heard one officer cry,

"Remember great Comrade Stalin's orders: NOT…ONE…STEP…BACKWARDS! There will be no mercy for defeatists, cowards and traitors! Anyone caught deserting his post WILL…BE…SHOT!"

This terrified him. Did those who ran in the face of the enemy really deserve to be shot? Can't they even be given a fair trial? Why not place them under arrest? But to execute them on sight…the thought horrified him. More reason to move forward, he thought. He looked around frantically for his friend Vladimir when a German shell fell close by him, knocking him off his feet. Now he heard a ringing in his ears and everything he saw was distorted and seemed blurred. Everything was moving slowly all of a sudden. He got up in a dazed state and tried to look around for Vladimir. His vision and hearing came back gradually. When he knew he could see, he looked to one of the docks. He saw a familiar figure: he was tall and thin, but not gangly; he had striking red hair and slightly tanned skin; his eyes were grayish blue, like the ocean when the sun reflected it in the afternoon; he was wearing an officer's uniform, with medals and decorations pinned all over, pale green trousers and black leather boots. His face looked very young and stubble, evidence that he had not shaved in a while. He looked to be about 19. He was shouting words of encouragement he couldn't hear amidst all the shouting and gunfire. He soon realized who he was looking at: it was Vladimir. Vladimir, his old friend. Vladimir, the tall and brave boy. Vladimir, the one who knew of sacrifice. He said under his breath, "that's him. That's him!" He jumped up and down and shouted out "Major Novikov! MAJOR NOVIKOV!" in a desperate attempt to get his attention. In a second, Vladimir turned to face him.

He couldn't believe his eyes. Could it be? Did his eyes deceive him? Was that really his long-lost friend from America? He moved closer in the direction of his American friend and called out his name.

"Renton? Renton, is that you?"

Renton nodded, tears in his eyes, a joyous smile on his face, happy in the knowledge that his friend was safe.

Vladimir cried out, almost in anguish, "Renton!"

He ran to him and Renton moved toward him, meeting one another in an embrace, mixed with tears of joy. Vladimir had not thought he would come. He had received a letter from him that he would be coming to see if there was anything he could do, but he never took it seriously. He never thought that Renton, the smartest boy he ever knew, would do something as crazy as come to Stalingrad in the middle of a fight. But here he was. He couldn't believe his eyes.

"I didn't think you'd come, Renton," said Vladimir.

"You know me, Vladimir. I'm not one to go back on my word."

The two laughed. It was laughter of relief and familiarity. They had done this before.

"You are very brave for doing this, Renton."

At that moment another shell landed near them. They weren't hit, but both now had a ringing in their ears from the explosion. They waited for their hearing to return to speak. Vladimir looked to his left to where his battalion (or what was left of it) was organizing for an attack against the Germans on the ridge.

"We don't have time to talk now, Renton! We need to retake the ridge! Help me organize my battalion!"

Renton was not even amazed that Vladimir issued this edict. It seemed the most natural thing in the world.

"Sure thing!" he cried, smiling at his friend. They were together again. Now all they had to do was stay alive.

Renton and Vladimir rushed to the battalion. Renton and Vladimir used to play games of soldier when they first met and always played games of soldier with other children from the neighborhood to practice. Renton was enthralled with military science; he got that from his father. When they reached the battalion, Renton was surprised to see many familiar faces among them: he saw Petya Sokolov, a blonde youth with fire in his eyes, now at the rank of sergeant. He saw Anatole Borodin, a ragamuffin with dirty brown hair and strange red eyes. there was Natasha Badanova, now a corporal, a strikingly beautiful black-haired girl who was Eureka's friend and competition for his affections before Natasha signed up to join the Red Army and defend Mother Russia; and there was Ken-Goh Fyodorev, a dark-haired blue-eyed young boy who had proved himself several times in the war games of years past, and was now at the rank of lieutenant. The last time he saw them, they were all in their early or mid teens and he had only been 12. It was astounding. Now, four years later, they were in their late teens, and they were all together again. He shut his eyes for a moment as if to wake up from the dream.

But now was not the time to remember years past, and share what had happened to them in four years. It was no dream. Now was the time to prepare for the fight. When all of them turned their eyes to Vladimir, their commander, they waited and wondered for the next order. Shall I order the charge? Shall we call for the artillery? What are my orders? We're at the ready, Comrade Major. Then, they noticed him, the boy standing beside him, looking upon all of them with a deep sense of relief at their safety and he rejoiced in the fact that he was with them again. They tried to rack their brains as to who it was, and then they remembered: Renton. After four long years, Renton was back. Renton, the young lad from America who had a love of history and curiosity of the world. Renton, the stouthearted commander who, along with Vladimir, orchestrated the war-games they remembered playing as children. Renton, the boy who was reluctant to leave his new-found friends when the time to leave had come. Renton, who made the promise that someday he would return. Now, four years later, Renton was back, and how happy they were to see him again.

Vladimir spoke up which took everyone by surprise.

"Comrades, we have our old friend Renton with us, who will help us in this, the hardest test of our lives! He is not even Russian, and yet he has the commitment to come in the middle of a fight to help his old friends. We must help the Motherland and push back the German invader!"

All of them cheered, happy for a moment to forget their nervousness. The adrenalin was rushing in their veins now. Ken-Goh turned to the other soldiers of the battalion and yelled at the top of his lungs,

"No hesitation comrades! Do not take one step backwards!"

Petya quipped in, yelling as best he could, "For Mother Russia, comrades! Do not turn your back on her!"

Anatole called out in support, "Victory or death!"

It was wonderful to hear them, Renton thought.

Vladimir assigned Renton to the first company, who had Ken-Goh as one of the platoon leaders. He handed him his old Mosin-Nagant bolt-action rifle and about 5 clips of ammunition. Renton remembered hunting pheasants and turkeys in the California backcountry with a Springfield bolt-action rifle. He was known to be a fairly good shot: at a target practice he got a bull's-eye eight times out of ten. He had also hunted wolves with Vladimir using the Mosin-Nagant. Now was no time to remember past years, he told himself. Now was time for the fight. Renton took his place next to Ken-Goh and waited for the order to advance. He didn't have to wait long.

Vladimir blew his officer's whistle and within seconds, the entire battalion charged up the slope, trying to capture the ridge which was dotted with MG42 nests. After about five minutes, they came under heavy machine gun fire and hit the ground, a little way below the crest. Renton looked around to see if anyone had been lost: Natasha was with him; so were Ken-Goh, and Anatole, and Petya. Thank God, he thought. He looked down the slope to find bodies marking the path of the battalion. They had lost 150 men in five minutes. He turned to Ken-Goh, clutching a PPSh-41 submachine gun with drum magazine. Ken-Goh turned his dark blue eyes to Renton, waiting for the next command; Vladimir was on the other end, away from them.

"What's going on? Who's in command, here?" asked Renton, yelling at the top of his lungs. He was getting hoarse, but maybe it was just from the smoke in his lungs.

Ken-Goh paused and looked down the slope. The captain was dead.

He turned back to Renton and yelled, "You are, Renton!"

Renton was in shock: he was a commander in those war-games, but he never once thought that his skills would be put to the test, in real combat. But he could not let on how he felt, lest his fear paralyze him.

"What's the situation, Ken-Goh? Where are we?"

"Where we're supposed to be, but no one else is!"

A boy, about seventeen, ran up the slope with a portable radio transmitter and took Renton's side. Renton yelled to the boy a message he quickly put through: "Battalion report: pinned down on the ridge overlooking the ferry landings. Repeat: battalion pinned down. Ridge is not open."

Anatole yelled to Renton from behind Ken-Goh, "We're all mixed up, Renton! We've got the leftovers from 2nd company, 3rd company and 4th company!"

Renton turned to the boy with the radio and yelled in his ear another message: "First attack wave: ineffective. We do not hold the ridge. Say again, we do not hold the ridge."

Renton turned back to Ken-Goh.

"We can't sit here like this! We'll be hung up all day! We gotta move! We gotta move, Ken-Goh!"

"What do we have to do, then, Renton?"

"You got some smoke grenades?"

"We all have smoke grenades!"

"Good! We'll use the smoke grenades to conceal our movement. We'll flank the machine gun nests and take them out one by one!" He turned to his left and right and called: "Does anyone not have a smoke grenade?" No one called out.

"Alright then!" he hollered. "Smoke grenades out! Every fifth person pulls out a smoke grenade! Don't throw them until I give the order!" The company followed the command and every fifth soldier had pulled out a smoke grenade. They all waited for the order, but Renton had one more order to give.

"FIX BAYONETS!"

He didn't need to say anymore. The word ran down the line and he heard the sound of bayonets clicking when locked onto the muzzles of their rifles.

"GET READY WITH THE SMOKE GRENADES!"

Smoke grenades were at the ready. They all waited for about a minute for the order to throw. It was now or never.

"GRENADES! THROW!"

The soldiers threw out their grenades and the young radio operator was about to run out when Renton pulled him back down.

"Wait! Wait for the smoke to fill!"

The sound of gas hissing soon came and the smoke started to rise like a curtain shrouding the MG42s' lines of sight. Within a few seconds the smoke completely filled the area. Renton nodded to Ken-Goh to give the go ahead. Ken-Goh nodded in kind and blew his whistle.

Every soldier rose and charged up the slope and through the smoke. No one fired a shot, or roared out a battle cry. All were silent; the element of surprise was key. They maneuvered to the right of each MG nest and flanked it. The Germans had soon discovered the plan, but it was too late. The Russians had now maneuvered around the nests and were firing into the Germans from the rear; the Germans were picked off like sitting ducks. Grenades were tossed and detonated; bullets flew and spoke in a language that Renton had never once heard. Zip! Whiz! Crack! Bang! Dead Germans fell with a red flash of blood where they were shot.

Half the Germans were gone. One squad of ten men, with Renton with them, captured a nest and refaced the MG42 to fire down the length of the remaining nests. Natasha manned the MG while Petya and Renton picked off Germans the MG couldn't hit. One. Two. Three. Four. The counting continued and they compared their final tally: Renton had 10 kills and Petya had 11. Soon, all the German MG nests in their sector were out of action and the ridge was almost clear. Renton rallied the soldiers and launched a flank attack on the other MG nests and knocked them all out in a flash; they ran through each of them, throwing grenades and picking off Germans as they went.

The last three German MG crews, three men each, realized they were being overrun and abandoned the nests. This was a terrible mistake. At that moment, the other Russians that had been pinned down on the ridge charged up the slope, and, in support of Renton's men, fired into the retreating Germans. All nine were shot down, and the only sound Renton then heard was manly stouthearted Russian cheer for victory. Renton joined them in their revelry, knowing that he had succeeded in keeping most of the company alive and succeeding in securing the ridge and allowing the Russians to move up and clear out Stalingrad.

_15__th__ September, 1939_

_Dear Renton, _

_Yes, I have heard the news. Most in my neighborhood don't seem to take much from it, but Father is very distraught, being a general and all. He has told me that we are not under liberty to intervene against Germany, as we have a standing nonaggression treaty with them. He tells me how it's madness, and it's only delaying the inevitable. When I asked him what the inevitable was, he only shooed me away, telling me to go play with my brothers. In reality, I wish I was playing with you. _

_The neighborhood is not the same without you here. The streets are so quiet to me even when they are filled with people. Many days I feel like I see you still on the sidewalks, waiting for my cable car to come so you can join me in a ride downtown. I have to refrain from calling out your name, for fear of making a fool of myself. Many of our friends still talk about you, and wonder what you are doing now after a year has gone by. Vladimir still calls us from officer training, and told me that there were some rumblings about a possible deployment. When I asked him where, he says he may be going to the Ukraine, but there is no word of it yet. He told me to give you his best, and say how much he misses you. Dewey left the city a few months ago, and from what he was allowed to say, he was heading east. There are frequent border clashes in Mongolia with Japan and Manchukuo, so I am certain he is going there. I pray that an end may come to those hostilities soon, and he will be able to come back home to us. _

_I've seen Petya and Natasha together more often. Do you still remember how often Natasha and I fought for your attention? Holland thought you had turned us into enemies! I'm glad we can still talk to each other, however, even if it isn't as frequent as I'd like it to be. Petya still remembers you, as does Anatole and Ken-Goh. Anatole wanted me to ask you if you are out roping cattle and chasing bandits like they do in the Wild West. I doubt you do, but he still wanted me to ask._

_I hope this is resolved quickly, Renton. There is nothing I want more than to have peace, and have a chance for you to come back to us again. Hopefully, if all goes well, Britain and France can defeat Germany, and we can forget this whole thing even happened. You could come to us for a victory celebration! _

_Father wants me to give his best to your father, and to say he misses him greatly. My brothers still wish you were back with us, as well as I. I miss you dearly, Rentoshka. Please keep well, and thank you again for the letter. It's helped me ease some pain I've felt from all of this. _

_Our best wishes to you and your family. _

_Your dearest friend,_

_Eureka_

1 Thank you.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

_25__th__ June, 1940_

_Dear Eureka,_

_I learned today of France's surrender to Germany, and the plans for occupation. I have sent out letters to Jacques, in the hope that he might still be alive and didn't get caught up in this mess. Now only Britain stands against Germany. I fear if things continue as they are now, our country may have to step in soon. Everyone tells me that we cannot, and we have to fix our own problems. My friends say we can't be the world's policeman, that we should let Europe fight its own battles._

_Sadly, the world is not as simple as that. Germany will not be content with France or Poland or Czechoslovakia or Austria. I traveled through Germany before coming to your country, as you know, and I have heard enough on radios to know what the Nazis want. There is still no word of intervention from your country, but I am sure it cannot go on like this. My hope is that something radical will happen to change the course of this war, and change it soon. I pray for the day when we don't have to worry about fascism, about people like Hitler, about war. We've had one destructive war already that ruined Europe. Why do we need another?_

_There is a strange disconnect here with regards to what happens in Europe. There are those who show support for Great Britain and contempt for Germany, but not many people seem to take notice, or even care, from what I see. I can understand it fully; we're still deep in a depression, and people want to look after themselves rather than the world. But we're still a part of this world. It makes me angry many days to see just how apathetic some people are to the plight of a ravaged continent. I won't depress you any further, as I am sure your family is troubled enough by these events._

_Things are very quiet here, and a weird cold front has blown in. I have to wrap up in a coat many days before going to school; the cold weather makes me think of Russia in the winter, and when I think of Russia, I always think of you. I suspect the weather in Stalingrad must be blindingly hot now. Hopefully the Pioneers_1_don't send you out on field trips in the blazing sun! We don't have anything like that here, but some days I wish we did. Perhaps something like that to keep me occupied will help to calm my feelings of loneliness without you._

_Give my best to your father and brothers. We hope you are all safe in these dark times._

_I remain as ever your own,_

_Renton_

**December 15****th****, 1942**

**Battalion HQ overlooking the ferry landings**

**Stalingrad, USSR**

One day had passed since the success of the capture of the ridge. Vladimir received reports from Lieutenant Fyodorev, his best platoon leader, of Renton's extraordinary leadership under fire. First Company had suffered few losses, but his battalion had lost almost all of the company commanders. He had to find some replacements. Who? Who could he choose?

Then it hit him: Renton.

Of course he would not stay company commander; he was too young for this sort of thing. Yet he had proven himself in war games and on the ridge with the successful flanking maneuvers of the MG nests. Already word was spreading about Renton, or as they called him, "the American Russian." Vladimir decided to give Renton command of First Company until he could find a replacement. Renton, willing to help Vladimir in any way possible, accepted command, with initial reluctance; he didn't think he was cut out for that kind of thing. He thought himself too young. But then Vladimir said, "I really need your help, Renton." At that point, he weakened; he could never deny help to his friend, no matter how crazy the circumstances were.

Renton and Vladimir were lounging around at the battalion headquarters reminiscing about old times and what had happened to each other in those 4 long years since they had seen each other.

Renton learned Vladimir had been given a command when the Germans first invaded in June 1941. He was given an officer's rank since he was the son of the great General Koslov. He had been a lieutenant during Operation Barbarossa, when the Germans seemed to be winning. He fought valiantly when his company covered the Red Army retreat from Rostov, and rose to the rank of captain. He commanded the First Company during the opening stages of the German offensives in the south towards Stalingrad, and he won the Order of the Red Star for outstanding bravery and was given a promotion to major of the battalion. Now, his unit was in his old city, fighting to halt the fascists at his old home.

Vladimir, by contrast, was somewhat stunned to learn that nothing much of interest had happened to Renton. After Pearl Harbor, his father joined the Marine Corps to fight in the Pacific. He had to get a job at the local pharmacy to keep the money coming in, and then he started high school. Nothing else, unfortunately. Renton felt minimized that he had not done anything exciting like Vladimir did.

None of that mattered to either, though. They were just glad to see each other again. Vladimir noticed that Renton had changed since he last saw him. He was now taller, although still a couple of inches shorter than Vladimir. He had become paler, evidence that he didn't have much time to go out and play, like they did so many times when they first met. His eyes had grown to a darker hazel color whereas before they were a vibrant light green, but they still had the piercing look they had four years ago. The one thing about him that hadn't changed, though, was his character. He had always been a good friend who kept his promises, who laughed, who played, who sacrificed, who stood by him, even when things looked grim. He was the same Renton; kind, caring, brave, intelligent, somewhat stuffy, and a little stubborn. Vladimir mused at the apparent irony; he was different on the outside, but his inside hadn't changed one bit.

Renton noticed Vladimir was different too. He was taller than the last time he saw him, although he always _was_ a couple inches taller than Renton. He had grown a shadow, evidence that he had begun shaving. The red hair was slightly darker, and he noticed a light streak in those strands of hair that always hung in his face. His eyes had once been a striking light blue like the ocean in the high afternoon sun, but now they had grown more to a bluish gray like ocean mixed with the dark sand of the beach. His smile was still the same though; a sort of impish smile that ran from ear to ear. His skin was still slightly tanned, like when it was when they played at the docks and went boating on the Black Sea. He still had those stray pieces of dirt he never got the time to wipe off; he always crawled around when they played war games. Despite the little changes, he was still the same Vladimir; flamboyant, honest, open, and at times a little narcissistic.

Renton and Vladimir talked for a long while about old times, old friends, and old experiences. After about half an hour had passed, Vladimir called to attention the plan for the battle ahead. They both turned to a map of the city and the surrounding areas.

"Renton," said Vladimir, "we are here." He pointed to the ferry landings on the map. "The Germans control 90% of the city, but we have succeeded in surrounding them and cutting off their communications and line of retreat; the entire German Sixth Army is now trapped in the city. This is our prime opportunity at capturing lost ground. Our forces here," he pointed to the docks," are ready to launch a full counterattack against the Germans."

"What's my objective, Major?" asked Renton, in his decisive manner.

"Here," Vladimir pointed to a spot a finger's length away from the docks on the map, "the Germans are trying to capture an aid station for their wounded. We cannot let them take it. Your mission is to advance upon the aid station and stop all attacks. Once you have done that, you are to proceed up Solechnaya Street," he ran his finger along the "street", "and clear out the German command post. We cannot let them take the aid station. You are to hold it at all costs. Do you understand?"

Renton promptly saluted, like he had done so many times in the war games and said in a decisive tone, "Yes, sir!"

Vladimir smiled and returned the salute. He knew he could count on him. He knew he would not fail. He had never ceased to amaze him in the war games of years past, where he, Renton, Natasha, Anatole, Petya and Ken-Goh all played against the children from another neighborhood. He learned the infantry tactics and strategizing from him; he taught them all the concept of "find, fix, flank, and finish," how to stage a pincer movement, how to use suppressive fire and enfilade fire, among many other things. Renton was a good soldier, he thought. He has the skin of the fox and the heart of the lion, as Frederick the Great would put it.

Renton reported to his company a few hours after receiving his orders. The men were all lying about trying to rest and eat to build up their strength. When the men saw him coming, they all rose and stood at attention. Ken-Goh stepped out from the ranks and saluted his old commander, who returned the salute.

Ken-Goh was two years older than Renton, but he still made a good friend when they first met four years ago. He acted like an older brother and always gave Renton helpful encouraging advice when confronted with a problem, and he, like most of the friends Renton met, saw the potential relationship between Renton and Eureka and was never hesitant to voice his thoughts about it, which didn't fail to embarrass the both of them. When it came to military matters, Ken-Goh had proven himself several times in the war games as a brilliant platoon leader. He had charisma, skill, daring, and the desire to take the fight to the enemy, something that all knew was crucial to victory. He had an unwavering belief in the final triumph of Soviet justice over Nazi tyranny. Renton was glad to see that Ken-Goh hadn't changed much in four years; the same dark blue eyes, the same brown matted hair, the same content, satisfied smile, the same strong spirit. He was the same Ken-Goh of four years ago.

Renton turned to the rest of his men, who looked on, patiently waiting for the next order. There was a silent celebration among them (since many of the men were the neighborhood children who knew him from when he first visited), quietly cheering in their heads, "Renton's back. The American boy has returned. Renton is back to lead us to victory." All kept their eyes on him, as if to say, "We are ready and willing, Renton. Just tell us what to do."

Renton knew what to do, but he wanted to look over old faces again. He turned back to Ken-Goh, placed his hands on Ken-Goh's shoulders, and said, with a great sense of longing and happiness, "Ken-Goh, the old warhorse." The two laughed. They had given each other nicknames for their actions in the war games. "Ken-Goh, I do hope that you remember what you've learned."

"But of course, Comrade Captain! Who can forget the boy who led us in so many successful battles?"

Renton chuckled happily.

"It's good to have you as platoon leader. You really are the best."

"Thank you, Comrade Captain."

"Nicky, do me one favor."

"Anything, Comrade Captain."

"Don't call me 'comrade'. Just call me Renton, like I call you Ken-Goh. Better to skip those formalities, eh?"

"Of course, Renton. It's good to have you with us."

"Well, it's good to be with you all, again."

Ken-Goh, in love of his old friend, and overcome with joy at seeing him again, gave Renton an affectionate Russian kiss2, who returned the favor. He patted Ken-Goh on the back and turned to the men, standing firm at attention.

Renton went about an inspection of the company, like he did so many times in the war games. The men all stood in a line, perfectly still and erect, like toy soldiers. The first old face he came across was Petya.

Petya was one of the fast friends Renton made when he came to Russia. He shared Renton's zest for life and delighted in thrillseeking back when they first met, and even though he was one year older than Renton, he always was glad to follow him around on every adventure they got themselves into, and they got into many. Petya also tried to give Renton advice about dealing with women when it came to his relationship with Eureka; usually it was he or one of Eureka's brothers who came up with schemes to get Renton closer to Eureka, and most plans had ended in hilarious consequences, always with a fond memory to look back on. As a soldier Petya had earned the reputation of being perhaps the bravest in his squad. He was always at the head of a charge, roaring at the top of his lungs, never once turning back. Whenever the time came for an attack, Petya always volunteered to lead the way. Petya was also one of the youngest men of the company at only 17. He had shown great bravery at the Battle of Kharkov and earned a promotion to sergeant; he was the best squad leader in the company. Petya had uncommon courage and valor, something Renton had great admiration for one so young.

Renton found that Petya still looked very young; his face was smooth, he had not shaved, the fire was still in his dark green eyes, his hair was still the golden blonde color it had been four years ago, and he still had that little impish smile he had when he first met Renton.

Renton asked him, "Petya, when the time comes for an attack, can I count on you to lead the way?"

"Have I ever let you down, Renton?"

Renton laughed quietly. "No, and I don't expect you to this time." Renton straightened his crooked helmet and buttoned his collar (Petya was all thumbs when it came to buttoning his shirt), and Petya gave him that mischievous smile he knew so well. He patted Petya on the shoulder and said, "it's good to have you all again."

Renton moved on to the next soldier, who happened to be Natasha. He never expected to see Natasha join the army; he didn't think women were allowed. But here she was, in Vladimir's battalion, and under Renton's command once again.

Natasha was a stunningly beautiful black-haired girl, who showed a courage Renton had never seen in a woman. She was Renton's age, a tender 16, but she still had managed to get into the Red Army by lying about her age, choosing to commit a wrong in order to follow her friends on the path to war. She was also once Eureka's competition for Renton's attention. She had a crush on Renton when they were younger when he first came to Russia, and she and Eureka quickly turned from friends into rivals. However Renton didn't have an interest in such things as love at the time when he was only a child, and so she eventually tired of chasing after him shortly before he left. However, she knew well Eureka's feelings when she confided in her shortly after Renton left Russia, not to return again for four years. Even after four years and after those memories of her trying to woo him, Renton still considered her a good, honest and trustworthy friend.

As a soldier, Natasha was one of the best. Whenever in the games of soldier Renton's team had to scout the enemy position, Natasha always volunteered to be lead scout. She was known to have a sharp intellect and reported everything she gathered from her scout missions down to the last detail. Whenever she and the other scouts encountered a patrol, they would stand and fight, rather than turn and run back to HQ like most scouts normally would. She was excellent with a rifle; she once shot ten bottles in a row at the shooting range. Her superb skills at marksmanship earned her a position as the sniper in her platoon and she was considered one of the best. Natasha was a fierce warrior with a feisty attitude to match; she could drink and smoke and laugh with the other soldiers, but when anyone got on her bad side, she unleashed a fiery temper that sent soldiers home to their families, their injuries were so bad.

"Natasha, how long has it been?"

"About…" she counted on her fingers, "four years. That's a very long time."

"Yes it is."

"Are you here for good?"

"Unfortunately no. I'm here for Christmas and New Year."

"Too bad. School, I guess?"

"You guess right. You'll have me around here for a while, though."

"Good. I'll be lead scout this time."

"And the next time, and the next time, and the next time…"

They both laughed. They had had this conversation so many times before. Natasha gave him an affectionate Russian kiss, and Renton returned the favor. He moved on the next soldier who was Anatole.

Anatole was a stout fighter, handy with a rifle and ruthless with a submachine gun, though he most of the time occupied the position of his platoon's machine gunner. He was an expert in German weapons, too; he often preferred the MP40 submachine gun over the handout PPSh-41 Russian gun. Anatole was a practical joker and loved to make people laugh. He cracked everyone up with his smart sarcastic wit, and he loved to tease Renton about his relationship with Eureka, whom he knew Renton cared deeply for. Despite his jokester persona, he was a caring friend who could be depended on. Renton saw that he had changed little since he last saw him: he still had the dirty brown hair that was always scruffy, the strange red eyes that some rumored were the blood of the Germans he killed, and rough worker's hands.

"Anatole," Renton spoke, "it's been a long time."

"Too long, Renton. Too long. Hopefully you'll stay with us a little longer this time."

"You fellows have me for Christmas and New Year."

"Good. We're looking forward to you leading the way. It's good to have you back Renton."

"Well, it's good to _be_ back."

Renton patted Anatole on the back and moved outward to look over his entire company. They all looked to be tough men, solid hardened veterans he knew he could count on.

"Well, men," he called out, "It seems that circumstances beyond my means of control have placed me in command of you all. I have fought beside many of you in years past, when we were little more than children at play. We showed ourselves to be patriots, devout believers in the final victory of good over evil. We often dreamed of serving our country and rising out of nowhere as heroes in a moment of great peril. That moment has arrived. The time has come for us to prove ourselves and make our dreams a reality. If there was ever a time for heroes, that time is now! That time is now! Now the time has come to prove ourselves in the heat of battle against the evil Nazi invader. The time has come for us to defend our way of life, to defend our Motherland, to defend our God! And when this war has finally reached its conclusion, people will look back on these dark times, look back on you, and the millions of others like you who have sacrificed everything for the safety of the world, people will say 'this was our finest hour'! Soldiers, LET'S PROVE THEM RIGHT!"

At this, the whole company broke into a roaring cheer, tossing their helmets and caps in the air, shouting words like "defend Mother Russia" and "until the last drop of blood!" Renton smiled at how he inspired them, how he whipped them into frenzy, and how he motivated them to continue the fight, even when things look bleak. Renton turned to Ken-Goh, who was standing at the ready to take the next order. Renton smiled and turned back to the company, who had by this time settled down. Renton ordered the company to turn right and march down the road until he told them to halt. The company didn't need to be told twice. Renton assumed his position at the head of the column next to Ken-Goh and Petya, and looked ahead to where the aid station they were ordered to secure would be.

»»»»»

**An apartment building, three blocks from Solechnaya Street**

**Three hours later**

"Natasha has reported Germans in the next room. Petya, I need you and your squad to clear that room. Once you've done that, the whole company can move out and advance on the aid station. The men on Solechnaya Street need our support. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Comrade Captain; perfectly clear."

"Petya, do me a favor: don't call me 'comrade'. We've known each other long enough to skip the formalities."

"Of course, Renton. My mistake."

"Never mind that; just get moving. The rest of the company will be right behind you."

"Yes, Renton."

Petya called on his squad to follow him and to proceed with caution. The word ran through the squad, "keep your heads down, comrades." They moved slowly down the hall of the apartment building and took cover behind some supply crates. Renton and the rest of the company fell in behind them. Anatole crept out and looked around the room, eyeing down the barrel of his rifle so he could quickly meet any fascists he came across. He spotted one peeking out of a column and fired; the German fell down, and voices of the enemy were soon heard. Petya motioned for the rest of his squad to move out. Petya and his squad burst into the room and killed several Germans. Renton soon ordered the rest of the company to follow him into the room; it was clear of Germans. Petya's squad was firing out the window at the Germans on the other side of the road. Renton ordered Ken-Goh to take positions behind the stone wall; Ken-Goh ordered his men out into the street and behind the wall, with Petya on the left side and Ken-Goh on the right.

There was sparse firing from Ken-Goh's men, but it wasn't enough. They would be pinned down if Ken-Goh didn't suppress the Germans. Renton ordered suppressing fire to pin the Germans down. Ken-Goh followed the command and soon everyone was firing and the Germans were pinned down behind the wall. Renton sent 2nd platoon to flank the Germans. 2nd platoon finished off the ten Germans pinned behind the wall. The whole company, with Renton in the lead, then moved in to clear out the next building, which was crawling with Germans.

The fight for the little building lasted about 15 minutes. There were Germans everywhere. Ken-Goh lost 5 men clearing out the left side of the building, and Petya was wounded, although not badly. Natasha was about to be killed by a German sneaking up from behind while she was reloading her scoped Mosin-Nagant, but Renton saved her by killing the German with a few sprays of his PPSh. Anatole was shot in the shoulder, and tossed a grenade into a room filled with five Germans, quickly killing all of them. The building was soon clear.

Renton and the company moved in to the bottom floor of the building where they rendezvoused with the commander the forces guarding the aid station, Lieutenant Popov. Popov had been waiting for them for a while, as was evident in the way he said, "It's about damn time you showed up! This way, comrades!" They then proceeded to move down a trench towards the building guarding the aid station. Renton heard a rumbling noise above him. He looked up from the trench to see about 3 or 4 Panzer tanks coming straight at him. He yelled to the company, "TANKS UP ABOVE! EVERYBODY GET DOWN!" The men didn't need to be told twice. They got down on their hands and knees and waited for tanks to pass. They didn't have to wait long. The rumble of the tanks faded and all was silent. The company continued their march towards the building.

Once they arrived in the apartment building, they linked up with the remaining defenders: there were only fifteen left, whereas before they had numbered 40. They had been holding this position for almost seven days, and had taken many casualties protecting the aid station. The help they so desperately needed had finally arrived.

"It's about goddamn time you showed up!" yelled Popov. "The Germans are massing for another attack! Prepare yourselves, comrades!"

"We're ready to help, Lieutenant," said Renton, calmly.

"Where are the rest of the reinforcements?"

"I don't know. Vladimir didn't tell me if he was bringing up the rest of the battalion."

At that moment, the young radio operator came running up to Renton.

"Captain, Major Koslov wants to talk to you!"

Renton quickly grabbed the radio.

"Renton? Renton, are you there?" muttered Vladimir through the crackle of the radio.

"Yes, I'm here. We've reached our objective and are awaiting the German attack."

"Good. Renton, listen carefully: when you have repulsed the attack, I need you to move up Solechnaya Street and knock out the German command post. Understand?"

"Yes, I do. You can count on me, Vladimir."

"I know I can. Good luck, Renton."

"Vladimir, can you bring up the rest of the battalion? Lt. Kreschev needs some reinforcements."

"No problem. I'm bringing up 2nd and 3rd company now. The other companies will be up in about half an hour. Out."

Renton handed the radio back the operator and yelled to his men, "HOLD THE LINE, MEN! DON'T LET THEM PASS!"

All the men scrambled to the windows and took up firing positions. Natasha reloaded her scoped Mosin-Nagant with five new bullets as Anatole ran outside with his DP machine gun. Petya stayed with Natasha so he could direct her fire and act as her spotter. Ken-Goh and his platoon took positions in the trenches outside. Renton pulled out his Mosin-Nagant and aimed at the rising smoke screen a few hundred meters ahead of him.

Ken-Goh called out from the trenches, "Hold your positions, comrades! Wait until they get close!"

Petya then called out in support, "Comrades! For the Soviet Union, and for the glory of the Motherland! Get ready!"

The first Germans ran through the smoke and out into the open. Renton knew it would not do to wait another second. He gave the order: "OPEN FIRE!"

Within minutes, the whole company was firing into the charging Germans. Amidst cries of "Not a step back!" and "cowards will be shot!" Renton shot and reloaded, shot and reloaded, over and over, never stopping until all Germans in his sight were down. One. Two. Three. Four. The counting continued until he lost count. He never was really thinking as he loaded and fired. He was doing it out of impulse. It was second nature now, like breathing and blinking. He couldn't help it. He knew killing was wrong, even if you were killing an enemy, but they were still humans after all. He hated killing a human, but it was his duty. War is war, he thought. People will get killed in war and there's nothing you can do to change it. Just forgive yourself. He was praying for forgiveness every time he fired a shot: Lord, I confess that I have sinned against thee, in thought, word and deed, by what I have done and by what I have left undone. I have not loved thee with my whole heart and I have not loved my neighbors as myself. I am truly sorry and I humbly repent. For the sake of your son, Jesus Christ, have mercy on me and forgive me, so I may delight in your will and walk in your ways, to the glory of your name. Amen.

He repeated this prayer as he shot down each German. Soon, the Germans began to falter and hesitate, and then began falling back. Renton pulled out his binoculars and saw that the Germans were retreating to their command post. Now was the time to turn the tables, time to push the enemy back! No retreat! Advance! Attack! Forward!

He ran out of the building and called for the men to fix bayonets. They soon complied and Renton yelled out at the top of his lungs, "They're falling back, men! CHARGE!" Ken-Goh blew his whistle and ordered his men to attack. Petya shouted, "For Mother Russia! ATTACK! ATTAAAAAACCKKK!" They charged through the trenches and up Solechnaya Street towards the German command post.

They were less than a hundred meters away from the command post when they ran into stiff German resistance. The whole company took cover among the supply crates and boxes. Ken-Goh ordered Petya to charge the MG emplacements, but Petya was thrown back. Ken-Goh and Petya were now pinned down behind a load of supply crates 25 meters from the MGs. Renton stayed with Natasha to direct her fire. Natasha knocked down the MG crews with her scoped Mosin-Nagant. Once the MG crews were down, the whole company surged forward and into the command post. Petya and Renton took down seven Germans, but an enemy bullet grazed Petya's arm, wounding him. Renton covered him from the relentless attacks by the Germans as he quickly tied up the wound with a tourniquet, stopping the bleeding temporarily. The ground floor was soon cleared of Germans. Renton ran up the stairs, hoping to break down the door and clear out the second floor. It was locked. He banged and kicked for all he was worth, but it was no use. The Germans had locked themselves in.

"Goddamn those Nazis!" yelled Renton in exasperation, banging on the door. "They've barricaded themselves on the upper floors!"

"Renton, shouldn't we ask them to surrender?" asked Ken-Goh from down below.

"I'll ask them after I've blown them to hell! Get some explosives up here, NOW!"

"Right away, Captain." Ken-Goh called to his platoon, "We need engineers up here! Get the explosives ready!"

Renton ran down the stairs.

"I've got some TNT!" called Anatole. He pulled out some TNT from his coat pocket and threw it to Renton. "I'll get started over here!"

Renton and Anatole started setting demolition charges around the base of the command post. Renton yelled to Ken-Goh, "GET TO A SAFE DISTANCE! CLEAR THE BUILDING!" The charges were set. Renton and Anatole ran out of the building with Anatole carrying a roll of wire and a detonator.

They were now a safe distance away from the command post. Renton knew it was now or never; the sooner they got this over with, the better.

Renton yelled to Anatole, "Pull the plug so we can end this thing!" Anatole turned the knob and the command post supports blew open. The building came tumbling down and a cloud of dust and smoke drifted toward them. The dust was among them and they were coughing and choking and heaving.

"That's the way to deal with fascists, men!" Renton yelled while trying to control his coughing. "Our work is done here, boys! Let's report back to base!"

»»»»»

"Good work today, first company," Renton said tiredly as he and the 140 men entered a makeshift barracks in an apartment building near Solechnaya Street.

"We would not have been able to do it without you, Renton," Ken-Goh, the commander of first platoon said smiling.

"Thank you, Ken-Goh. Now get some rest all of you. It won't be long before we have orders again."

Renton quickly claimed the top bunk in one of the rooms where his old friends from his first visit to Stalingrad turned into makeshift living quarters, with rolled out blankets for beds and knapsacks for pillows mixed with old-fashioned bunks. The people who got beds did so by being quick about claiming them, and sometimes they were lucky if there was a bed at all, what with the destruction the city had been put through.

Petya and Natasha made their way to a small secluded part of the room where the living quarters were, so they could be alone. They liked being alone together, and had spent most of their time together as such on the front lines. Partly because Natasha was a sniper and Petya proved to be a good spotter but also for a deeper, more personal reason; they were in love with each other. Petya, who had known Natasha since they were in kindergarten had crushed on her since he was 10, and tried to come out to her when he was 13 and she 12, but she was too busy fawning over Renton to take notice. On the day before Renton left Stalingrad, Natasha once came to her friend, begging for some helpful words concerning her efforts with Renton, who at that time paid more attention to Eureka than ever. She feared she would lose her first chance at love forever if she couldn't come up with something more to say to or do with Renton. It was then that Petya took the chance to tell her how he felt, and since that day, they were all but inseparable. Their relationship was one of passion and zeal, overstepping and erasing the boundaries of where they showed their love. In combat, they could not help but express it even in the smallest gesture such as holding hands or working together as sniper and spotter, as they often did. When off the front lines, Petya was ardent and never ceased to shower Natasha with his thoughts and emotions, which she took in at all times, just as Natasha was passionate and strong but at the same time quiet and comforting, providing a refuge for Petya to release his anxieties and his frustrations that came with the life of a soldier. Their love knew all places and could always make its way to the surface to overflow and overtake all other emotions that held them by the souls.

Petya and Natasha settled down into the small corner of the room with Petya against the wall of the room as Natasha, in one of her common fits of intense emotion found her lips pressing on his. He always enjoyed the feel of her lips on his, they felt soft like the goose down of a winter coat, and so smooth like fine glass. It acted like a trigger for their passion to overtake their minds and bodies, and they began fervently necking with each other, like they often did. Their small festival of pleasure and love being celebrated on their lips was interrupted by a knock on the door of the makeshift barracks.

"Mmm…I do wish people would leave us alone," Natasha complained.

"So do I," her love and commanding noncom replied. "I'm sure this won't take but a minute."

Petya opened the door and found a young soldier, about 18 at the eldest, wearing a dark grey overcoat in the cold and snowy weather, a grey fur hat on his head and his eyes gleaming blue in the cold night.

"Is…is this First Company?" the young soldier asked hesitantly.

"Da," Petya replied. "Who's asking?" At that the young soldier smiled and saluted sharply.

"Private Aleksandr Petrov, comrade Sergeant! Reporting for duty!" Petya chuckled.

"Not to me, you're not. You report to Captain Thurston." He took the young lad inside by the shoulder and brought him over to Natasha. "Corporal Badanova, take this poor kid to the captain before he turns into a popsicle."

"Do I have to, Petya?"

"I'm ordering you to," Petya said sternly.

"Yes, sir," she said sadly as she took Petrov to see Renton, lying on his bunk. Renton looked up and saw him and Natasha.

"What's all this, Natasha?"

"A new recruit reporting for duty sir." Natasha saluted and left as Renton sat up in his bunk and eyed the young soldier.

"What's your name, soldier?"

"Private Aleksandr Petrov sir!" Petrov returned saluting sharply.

Anatole who was sitting on a bunk smoking a cigarette laughed. He didn't really like new recruits; they always gave the company more trouble than they were worth, simply because they were so inexperienced. They knew nothing so they died like flies.

"They're sending us babies now."

"How old are you Petrov?" Renton asked, ignoring Anatole whose ego he knew was on the rise again.

"18, sir!"

"Holy crap, just out of the cradle!" Anatole laughed.

"How long have you been volunteering kid?"

"Three weeks sir! I volunteered, sir!" Petrov said enthusiastically.

"No one volunteers for anything around here, except for Ken-Goh and me. We're your officers; do exactly as we say or be wearing boots up your ass for a long time." Petrov clicked his heels.

"Yes, sir!"

"And don't call me sir," Renton said scowling.

"Excuse me," Petrov responded slightly intimidated. He then slinked away to find his bunk. Anatole laughed as he took a puff of his cigarette.

"Boy, Renton, you sure know how to motivate."

"He could make him crap his pants if he looks at him the right way," a soldier laughed.

"War isn't for young people," Renton said lying his head back, "in case you haven't figured it out yet."

"That's why you have to discipline these young recruits until they can survive in the field without help," Ken-Goh said nodding.

"Yeah before you get shot in the head by a fascist," Anatole chimed in. Ken-Goh looked at him with serious eyes.

"Are you questioning what it is we're doing, Private Borodin?"

"Heavens, no, comrade Lieutenant," he said sarcastically. "God forbid I speak out against the glorious cause of grinding the fascist beneath our feet!"

"C'mon, lieutenant, I know you're just a big teddy bear underneath that hard body!" a soldier laughed.

"Another smart remark, Corporal and you'll be on latrine duty for a whole week!"

"Is that a threat or a promise?"

"A promise, comrade!"

The soldier laughed and went to his magazine he had in his hands as Anatole threw Renton a pack of cigarettes.

"Care for a smoke, Captain?"

"No thank you; I don't smoke."

"You never smoked in your life?" Anatole laughed incredulously.

"Don't tell me the captain is a teddy bear too!" a soldier chimed in laughing.

"He's not the kind to engage in vices, comrades," Ken-Goh said laughing.

"Everyone starts smoking at one time or another! C'mon try it Renton it can't hurt!"

Renton hesitantly took a puff of the cigarette and began coughing violently, to the laughter of everyone. He threw it on the ground and stomped on it with his foot as Petrov looked at a magazine of one of the soldiers, with a bright red face.

"Umm…excuse me, comrade Captain, but…is this kind of magazine permitted?" Renton looked and saw the soldier was reading a pornographic magazine.

"No, Petrov, it most certainly isn't." He grabbed the magazine and then threw it out the window and onto the cold snowy streets below.

"What's the big idea, Captain?" the soldier protested.

"Pornography is contraband. You get caught with it and you'll be tried by the highest military authority. Understood?"

The soldier just growled as he turned to Petrov whom he blamed for losing his form of entertainment.

"You…! Watch your back! One wrong move and I'll have my boot so far up your ass you'll be spitting it up!"

The soldier left away steamed as Petya, sitting on the bunk with Natasha called out in jest,

"I have a solution for you, Corporal. Get yourself a wife!"

"Aww, drop dead!"

All laughed as Petrov looked around in confusion. He didn't know what had just happened, but felt a sense of guilt that he had committed some wrong he should own up to.

"Did I do something I shouldn't have, comrades?"

"You're fine, Petrov," Petya said smiling at the young recruit. "Just listen to your officers and do what they tell you and you'll be fine."

"Yes, comrade Sergeant."

"That was the first right thing you did since you got here, Private!" Anatole laughed as he took another puff of his cigarette.

"What does that mean, comrade?" Petrov said slightly intimidated.

"Don't mind him, Petrov," Renton said from his bunk. "He's just a big joker."  
"Very well, Captain."

He then left to the far edge of the makeshift barracks. A few more moments passed as Petrov examined his loaded Mosin-Nagant rifle. A durable, rugged weapon, suited to all conditions, be them hot, cold, humid, rain or shine. He aimed down the sight without actually wanting to aim at a target and he accidentally pulled the trigger.

BANG!

A shot rang out and whizzed through the barracks and knocked Anatole's cigarette out of his mouth. All laughed at that as Renton stood up in his bunk incensed. This new recruit was far more trouble than he was worth!

"PETROV!" That elicited the simultaneous cry from all in the room, laughing and jeering,

"OOOOO! Petrov is about to get a piece of the captain!"

Renton stomped off to find the raw inexperienced recruit who fired that shot while Anatole steamed about the untrained boy.

"That kid must be a brat!"

"More like a good shot!" Petya laughed. "He must have gotten you good."

"What are you talking about Petya?"

Petya snickered and pointed to Anatole's moist crotch area of his wool trousers. He had relieved himself from the scare. Anatole's face reddened in anger as all the soldiers laughed and he left to find a new change of trousers. Renton found Petrov and quickly snatched the Mosin-Nagant away from the young soldier. Petrov looked at his commanding officer with bright innocent young eyes.

"What's wrong, Captain?"

"Don't you know you could have killed someone with that? NEVER EVER fire a rifle indoors! If you have to shoot, shoot at the Germans!"

"Sorry, Captain. But it was a pretty easy shot."

"You're lucky I'm a nice guy so I'll let you off this time."

He started to walk away when Petrov grabbed his shoulder. He had the look of a child who didn't know what to do and felt alone in a strange new world.

"Captain, sorry for bothering you but I feel out of place here."

Renton smiled and sat down with the young lad, giving him key advice for a new soldier.

"You're just new and getting used to life here, kid. Don't worry; you'll be fine. And don't pay the people who haze you any mind; the veterans treated them like that when they were raw recruits too. You'll come to understand the ways of the front in time. Just be patient and do what your officers tell you."

"Yes Captain."

Renton smiled and patted him on the shoulder before going back towards his bunk and then seeing Anatole come out in a new pair of trousers, steamed and looking ready to kill someone.

"I'M GONNA MURDER THAT KID!"

Petya and Natasha restrained him laughing and put him in a small secluded room in the barracks where he could calm down before going all out on the young recruit. Renton then saw Petya and Natasha starting to walk back to their bunk holding hands, looking at each other lovingly. This caught his attention as he didn't think that they, of all people he knew here, would be together like that. Now of course Natasha had always held a soft spot for Renton and had crushed on him when they were younger, but Petya didn't seem to mind it much and actually found amusement at the sight of Renton being caught between two girls. But now! Petya and Natasha…together? In love? Was it even possible? Or was it that just so much had happened in the last four years?

"Since when were you two together as a couple?" Renton inquired looking lazily from his bunk.

Petya chuckled, never thinking that Renton of all people would ask such a question. Renton was always shy and reserved when it came to his feelings, especially when it concerned women.

"Why you asking, Renton?"

"Because the last time I was in Russia, it was me Natasha was chasing after."

Natasha giggled at the mention of all her days chasing after Renton. She remembered vividly how each day they came into contact with each other in Stalingrad when he first visited how she would drag him all over town and try to force something out of their being together. She even kissed him a few times, though it only made Renton confused and unsure of what to do or say with her. And when Eureka entered the picture…well…things certainly were never pretty when the two of them were together with Renton.

"Well I got tired of fighting over you with Eureka, so I decided to give Petya a chance and here we are." Renton chuckled.

"Well imagine that. Any plans of marriage or am I getting ahead of myself?"

"We've been engaged for six months now."

"Congratulations to the two of you."  
"Thanks. We don't have a ring yet but he still proposed to me on the battlefield near the Don River. It was very romantic."

"Sounds like it."

"Do you have a girl, comrade Captain?" asked a soldier smoking a cigarette. Renton blushed in embarrassment at the question. Petya and Natasha only laughed at seeing their friend in this state.

"He does," Petya said smiling, "and we all know who it is he's in love with." Renton blushed more, knowing full well who Petya was referring to. He swore in his heart he didn't think of her like that. It only made his heart ache and tear itself inside out with the pain he felt when he left her..

"I…ahh…don't know what you're talking about," Renton stammered.

"Oh but you do, Renton and you know it!"

"How would you know, Petya?"

"I got my connections, Captain."

"What? You mean you've spoken with Eureka?"

"Why wouldn't we?" Natasha said smiling. "We're friends before we're rivals."

"Well I know that. But…what does she say about me?" All the soldiers laughed at that.

"Only that you're on her mind all the day and in her dreams at night."

Renton blushed. He never thought Eureka thought of him that much. He thought that he caused her so much pain after he left her she would try to forget about him. But…she thought of him constantly? She thought of him every day and every night. Maybe…she had forgiven him long ago. For what other reason would she keep thinking of him? Perhaps Sonia was right; his coming back would more than make up for everything that he had done to wrong her.

"R-Really?" he said, timidly.

"Would I lie to you…my former lover?" All the soldiers laughed as Renton's face turned a brighter red, more embarrassed than incensed.

"Natasha Badanova!"

"Gotcha, sir." One of the soldiers chuckled and then took a puff of his cigarette and looked at the captain smiling.

"So how far have you gone with her?"

"They're not even dating," Petya said smirking slyly, "but they still love each other."

"Honest to God, sir, I didn't take you to be such a wimp with women," the soldier laughed.

"Keep it up soldier and the new kid will knock out your cigarette too." The soldier then went silent as Petya laughed. "That's what I thought, private."

Everyone laughed and quietly went back to their individual businesses. Ken-Goh had gone off to claim another bunk and got a head start on some sleep. Petya and Natasha in the meantime went straight back to necking on their bunk, no one seeming to take notice except Renton. He was increasingly distracted by it. It was at first out of irritation but then slowly it turned into one of…what was it…a mixture of jealousy…lust…love. He couldn't stand it. His heart was writhing in agony at not having her next to him, not having said so many things he wanted to say, not being able to tell her how abashed at himself he felt for not sharing in her burden and bearing her pain. He spoke to them with a slightly agitated tone to conceal his inner torment.

"Could you two be so kind as to do that somewhere else?"

"What's wrong Captain?" Petya said slyly, chuckling. "Can't stand to see something you never had the guts to do with Eureka?" The soldiers chuckled as Renton shot Petya a dirty look.

"I gave you an order, Sergeant. Be so kind as to follow it." Petya chose to aggravate him a little more by standing at attention like the Petrov when he came in and saluted sharply.

"Yes, sir!" Renton glared at him and Petya only chuckled, having got him. "Excuse me."

Petya and Natasha then left Renton to sleep in his bunk before going into the private quarters for the NCOs. Petya took off his overcoat and faced Natasha. They were alone and Petya tackled Natasha onto the empty cot in front of them, kissing her passionately and holding onto her tightly, never wanting to let go.

"I love you, Natasha."

"I love you too, Petya."

The fire of passion and love was burning in them, and warming them on this cold winter night as they wrapped themselves in a blanket spread across the cot.

"Petya…"

"What is it, lyubimaya3?" Natasha ran her hand up and down Petya's uniformed chest, caressing and loving the feel of him.

"I…love you so much. Should we?"

"Only if you want to, Natasha. I'll do whatever it is you desire."

"We may never get another chance like this again, lyubimi. Please…just take me…"

They covered themselves in the blankets and slipped out of their uniform trousers and made love that night, showing the full extent of the love they shared, and wanting to feel the other before the next day's battle. As any soldier knew, each day could be a soldier's last, and one had to enjoy every moment the best one could.

_10__th__ July, 1940_

_Dear Renton,_

_Father never stops talking about what insanity this nonaggression treaty is in the face of all that Germany has done. He says much of the upper brass thinks it better to let an imperialist country like Britain face Germany alone, as it would only leave more territory to eventually liberate with the banner of socialism. Father does not think much of such things; he only fears that, in his words, 'this deal we made with the devil will come back to bite us eventually.' I join you in your prayers that Jacques is alive and well after all that has happened; it may be a long time before France finds liberation. As for us, we still go about our daily business, in the forlorn hope that this goes away quickly._

_I find that same disconnect here among my friends in the city, but I think it stems more out of fear than simple disinterest. The fact is, we still have a standing treaty with Germany, so we have to honor our diplomatic commitments. Father tells me many times that doing what's practical is often better than doing what's right. It's not the most pleasant lesson to hear, but it is one that Father tells me is applied many times in politics. I try to stay away from those matters; it's not healthy for someone as young as you or I to become jaded from the realities of the world, is it?_

_The city takes on a different life in the summer; everywhere people dash to and fro, and us Pioneers are very busy. We are scheduled to help construct a canal out on the Don River, near the Black Sea. Do you remember how we used to go boating there with Vladimir, Renton? We haven't gone out since then; we're saving the moment so you can share it with us. You are right, it is very hot here in the summer. It's a sad thing you left when you did; you would have been right at home when autumn blew in. Hopefully you can come back during the wintertime, though it might colder than you can handle! I wish my brothers and I could show you how to have a snowball fight; it's great fun, something I know you would enjoy. You could lead us to victory against Petya, Natasha and the others. They all miss you dearly, by the way, as do I. It's comforting to know how often you think of me; I know I can at least count on you when everything else in this world is falling apart._

_Much love from our family to yours. Don't stop writing, as we greatly enjoy your letters._

_Your dearest friend,_

_Eureka_

1 Soviet Pioneers: A mass youth organization in the Soviet Union for children aged 10-15. Although membership was claimed to be optional, virtually all children in the Soviet Union were inducted into the Pioneers. Pioneers often participated at Communist Party rallies as well as festivals and volunteering in community projects. During World War II, Pioneers contributed to the war effort and thousands died in battles against the German invasion.

2 A kiss, commonly done in Russia and Eastern Europe, where one kisses both cheeks one after the other, usually as a show of affection, respect, or friendship.

3 Russian word for [my/your/his etc] love (feminine form)


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's note: In the original combat chapters I wrote, the focus was all on action. The emphasis was on what Renton had to endure to find Eureka, and how he suffered mentally as a result. However, upon going back, I realized there needed to be more emotional development with regards to Renton's feelings for Eureka. They're not just two strangers who fell in love with each other at first sight like in the anime here; they're friends from youth, spent happy days together before parting. So alongside the letters of correspondence they shared over the years comes Renton's guilt of a broken promise. That guilt is highlighted here.**

* * *

**Chapter Seven**

_22__nd__ June, 1941_

_My Dearest Eureka,_

_I awoke today to the terrifying news that Germany had invaded your country without any warning or declaration of war. It seems the worst of my fears has been realized, and this war has finally spilled over to you. Your father was right; a country led by a man like Hitler can never be trusted to honor its diplomatic commitments. _

_By the time this letter reaches you, the war with Germany will be two weeks in, but I fear with how they have rolled over the entire continent with such ease, the same may happen to you. Please let me know you are safe. I am ready at a moment's notice to hop on the next ship towards Vladivostok and come to you if things turn south. There is not a minute that has gone by this day when I have not thought of you. I keep close to the radio in the hope for any developments on what is happening. Who would have thought it would come to this?_

_The town feels empty, even in the summer. Perhaps people are so disheartened by the bleak news they dare not leave their homes, for fear the next piece of news is aimed at us. Europe lies crushed, Japan has completely taken China, and now this. _

_Why did this have to happen to us, Eureka? Why did this war have to come? Why is it always the innocents that get sucked into something that isn't their fault? Why are they always the ones to suffer? What happened to the days when we were happy, gay, and free? What happened to the times we would spend on Mamaev Kurgan_1_, just watching the sun reflect on the Volga? What happened to the feelings we shared as we sat in the station, watching the trains go by? Where did all those days go? _

_I dreamt last night about our final parting at the train station, and the promise I made to you. I said I would come back, and I would be together with you and your family again. I said that nothing would change, and it would be just like before. Everything __has__ changed now, as much as I wish it weren't so. I want to keep my promise, Eureka. Just tell me what you need, and I will do everything in my power to realize it. I will even come to Russia if I must. Just tell me you are alright, that you are safe. _

_Please, please answer me when you can. Every day of silence and waiting is another day of uncertainty that I find difficult to bear. I will say a prayer for you tonight._

_I remain vigilantly your own,_

_Renton_

**8 hours later, December 16****th****, 1942**

**Somewhere in Stalingrad**

The men had been woken up early in the morning to the sound of artillery fire. The incessant shelling had become normal for the men of the Red Army; it was expected. Vladimir had new orders for Renton: contact with the second company had been lost. What had most likely happened was the phone wire was broken by the shelling; it happened all the time. Now it was time for First Company to repair the wire.

The men of Ken-Goh's first platoon would repair the field phone wire with Renton while the second platoon under a fierce-tempered 22 year old blonde named Lyudmila Sakharova along with third and fourth would clear out the buildings on either side of the phone wire's length and meet them all on the other side. It was a sound plan. Now only to execute it.

Renton cautiously led Ken-Goh's men down a street towards the ruins of an apartment lined with furniture boxes and smashed walls, following the wire. Soon the sound of an MG42 firing filled their ears and all took cover against a wall or behind a pile of boxes at the street corner. The MG42 was able to rip through the boxes and kill the men hiding behind there. Renton knew they would be pinned down if they stayed here and quickly threw a smoke grenade out onto the street a few rods from the boxes. All stayed low as they heard the sound of gas hissing and a large cloud of smoke rose like a curtain, concealing the movement as they rushed to the bombed out apartment. Petya soon found the section of broken wire and quickly tied it up, allowing them to move forward.

They slowly advanced, running into resistance from Germans with an MG42 behind a broken wall, trying to slow the advance and keep the phone wire cut. Natasha quickly sniped the machine gunner as Petya and Anatole gunned down three Germans that came running towards a rubble pile to try and push them back, bullets literally ripping their bodies apart. A grenade fell near Renton who was taking cover behind a chest of drawers and he quickly threw it back, detonating and killing several Germans on the other side of the wall. They all jumped over the wall and rushed through a building with a hole in the wall, running into a squad of Germans taking cover behind crates and boxes on the upper levels of the building, firing down on them.

Petya found and repaired the broken wire section as Renton quickly threw a Russian RGD-33 stick grenade at a German crouching behind a pile of boxes at the landing on a flight of stairs, killing him and throwing him into the air three feet. He then ran up the stairs and quickly killed two Germans crouching behind a pile of sandbags with his PPSh-41 and all of Ken-Goh's platoon quickly followed him to a hole in the wall, the street about 10 feet below them. Five Germans carrying MP40s ran out from a building right across from where they were and started firing up at them. Renton and the others returned fire as Renton shouted,

"Use your grenades!"

The men did as they were told and threw grenades down at the Germans which quickly detonated and killed all five of them. One after another, they all jumped down and advanced to a street covered by an MG42 behind some sandbags.

"It's an MG42! There's no way around it!" Natasha screamed.

"We'll see about that!" Renton called as he threw out a smoke grenade.

Soon the smoke grenade formed a curtain of smoke for them to advance into and surprise the Germans. Anatole threw two grenades into the smoke as they snuck up to the sandbags and waited for someone to make a move. Renton saw a shadow in the smoke and haze and fired at it, and a spurt of blood flashed him and spattered on his face, and soon the remaining Germans opened fire blindly, trying to find the source of the shots. Renton and company soon eliminated them all and as the smoke cleared they found the broken wire section and Petya quickly repaired it. They then advanced through the ruins of another bombed out apartment to a garrison of Germans on the second and third floor crouching behind an old piano and some boxes.

The Germans threw grenades at them as they came through a doorway out into the open before them and quickly killed two men as Renton Petya and Natasha took cover behind some broken plaster trying to pick off the Germans on the upper floors.

Natasha quietly sniped a German hiding behind two barrels on the landing of a staircase with her scoped Mosin-Nagant as Renton threw a grenade at a German hiding behind the piano. The grenade detonated and killed the German on the top floor, falling to the snowy earth with a crack and blood slowly flowing from his body, the blood mixing and freezing with the cold snow. Renton quickly yelled back to the rest of Ken-Goh's men in the room next to them,

"Let's move out! We got no time to waste!"

Renton without a moment's hesitation ran up the stairs, running into two Germans firing their MP40s at him. Renton, with a hatred in his eyes for the people who were causing all this suffering mixing with the hatred of all tyrants and having no control of his senses, charged the Germans swinging his Mosin-Nagant like a club, and bashed a German over the head with the butt of his rifle before turning on the other and shooting him in the face, spattering blood on his face. He then turned to the far corner of the building and found an MG42, which he quickly took and started to fire on German strongpoint near an apartment building on the far side of the street opposite the building they were in. He killed Germans by the score with that machine gun, taking cover behind sandbags and boxes and coming out of the apartment, flashes of blood emanating from wherever they were hit, always falling down dead with a groan or a cry for their mother, and Renton, showing no mercy for the men who had invaded his dear Eureka's home, never letting up until the gun was out of ammunition and seeing the sight of Sakharova's second platoon leading a charge straight up the street and into the apartment, the young girl turning and waving to her commander with a smile and Renton, waving a heavy hand back and giving her a big thumbs-up.

The rest of Ken-Goh's platoon came up and Renton led the way across a makeshift bridge of floorboards and into an adjacent apartment, crawling with Germans. Renton Petya and the new recruit Petrov went into a room and a German popped out behind a turned over desk. Petrov quickly bashed him over the head with his rifle. They turned a corner and found a German leaning out from a doorway across the room from them with an MP40. Petya quickly killed him by shooting through the plaster and splattering blood on the wall as the German fell dead. Renton snuck behind a German hiding behind a chest of drawers and shot him in the back with a spray of his PPSh-41, spattering more blood on the walls. Petya found another broken section of wire and patched it back together as they then ran down the stairs and into another apartment, with more Germans guarding the phone.

They came to a staircase leading down where a piece of broken wire lay. Renton threw a grenade down and it detonated casting a German against the wall and allowed them all to advance down into the building and into the radio room where they found the field phone and Sakharova and the other platoon commanders waiting for them.

"It's about time you got here," Sakharova complained jokingly. "None of us know how to operate the phone."

"I do," said the young 17-year-old radio operator Renton had met when he arrived in Stalingrad.

"Then get Battalion HQ on the line, private!"

"Right away comrade Lieutenant."

The boy adjusted the knobs on the phone, the static and whining annoying them all until they found the frequency they were looking for. Renton took the receiver and sent a message to Vladimir.

"First Company calling Battalion HQ. First Company calling Battalion HQ. We have completed our mission and awaiting further orders. Over." Then came the familiar voice of Vladimir over the radio.

"We are reading you loud and clear, Captain Thurston. Well done! Wait…hold one moment…Panzers have been spotted approaching your location! Hunt those fascists down! Good luck! Out!"

Renton turned to the platoon commanders all looking to him with intent on his plan.

"Does anyone have anything we can use for antitank weapons?" Some of the commanders looked to each other confused. Ken-Goh stepped forward.

"I got some sticky bombs that we use." He then handed Renton what looked to be stuffed socks dipped in axle grease with fuses sticking out. Renton looked at them in confusion.

"Sticky bomb?"

"Yeah, you put as much TNT in the sock as you can, cover it in grease and when you throw it, it'll stick to the tank hull. Plant these on the tracks or the engine."

"Right. Good thinking, Ken-Goh."

They then ran out the door up to the second floor of a building where they could see a Panzer tank approaching the north reaching a corner building across from the apartment they were in. Anatole set up his DP machine gun and opened fire on the Germans fast approaching from the street, cutting them down by the score as the rest of the men in the building covered Renton as he jumped down from a hole in the apartment and quickly planted the sticky bombs on the engine and tracks of the tank. He got back to a safe distance in the corner building. The tank was quickly disabled as Petya and Anatole mounted the tank and opened the hatch, firing down into the tank, killing the crew and then dropping a grenade before getting cleared of the tank.

The tank soon exploded into a pile of twisted metal as the whole company with Renton in the lead advanced down an alleyway cutting into Germans and then turning to find another Panzer. Renton set the sticky bombs on the tank again and disabled it. This time, he himself mounted the tank along with Ken-Goh and Petya.

"Kill the fascists! Show them no mercy!"

"Fire in the hole!"

A German tank crew member opened the hatch unaware of who was out there and got a bullet in the forehead as Petya planted a grenade in the tank and then moved on down to the street where they started, seeing the old bombed out apartment they had cleared, and a tank rumbling on the street next to it. Renton ran like the dickens as the company cleared out the area of remaining Germans. He planted the bombs on the engine and ran far enough to be safe. The tank soon exploded like a firecracker and at last, the streets fell silent. Renton ran back to the company as Anatole, Petya, Natasha and company panned their guns around looking for any stragglers or remaining enemies.

"I don't see any more."

"You're losing this fight, Fritz! No use in hiding!"

"I think we taught them a lesson, First Company," Renton said smiling. "Good work everybody. This ought to earn you all double vodka today!"

At that there was a loud cheer as Renton turned to the radio operator.

"Get through to Battalion HQ and send the mission success message. Keep sending until acknowledged." The young boy smiled and nodded.

"Yes, sir, comrade Captain!"

Renton smiled as all cheered at another victory under the boy they knew could lead them to victory, they knew they could trust, they knew cared deeply for all of them. The boy who had become known as "The American Russian."

»»»»»

**December 17****th****, 1942**

It was a cold, cold December morning. The temperature had fallen to almost -30 degrees Celsius. Things were quiet in the city of Stalingrad except for the occasional pop-pop-pop of small arms and the distant rat-tat-tat of machine gun fire. To complement the sounds of these mass-distributed agents of death that gave the city a paradoxically deadly calm air, one could also hear the distant booming of long-range artillery. It seemed odd that the sounds of war made a city seem more peaceful than when there was no war in the city at all. The quietude of First Company's sector of the city made it a perfect opportunity to go out and snipe a few unsuspecting fascists. The best sniper in the company, Natasha, of course elected to go. Petya, like always, volunteered to go with her. But then, Renton stunned everyone by saying that he would go as well.

It seemed strange to many that their young friend and new acting company commander would go with them on a scouting mission. Partly from the fact that he was so young and many of his friends feared the possibility of his death, and partly from how out of character and personality it seemed for him to go ahead. In his games of soldier he never went with a scouting party. Scouting was considered dangerous, as one always ran the risk of running unexpectedly into the enemy, and it was even more hazardous if the scouting party was small, usually around 2 or 3 people. However no one objected to his statement or his actions simply because, as the captain and acting commander, the members of the company could do nothing but follow the orders he issued and accept them whether they agreed with them or not.

They slowly and quietly trudged across the snow-covered streets, the crisp white blanket rustling and crunching beneath them. Natasha wore her traditional field green uniform complete with a newly scavenged set of darkly-colored felt boots and black fingered gloves, carrying a black cloak on her back to conceal her whenever she sniped; it was important for a sniper to keep his or her cover. Petya followed close behind wearing his uniform, but the difference between him and Natasha was that he did not carry a cloak and dressed much more warmly, with a dark brown overcoat and black scarf, topped with his field green helmet, slightly tilted to one side like it always was. Bringing up the rear was Renton, dressed almost all in black, from his spiked tall black boots to his brother's patched up winter coat to his fur hat with the ear flaps pulled down. The only distinguishing feature from this boy in black was his grey scarf wrapped and tied tightly around his neck, his grey gloves, and the polished gleaming brown barrel of his Mosin-Nagant rifle.

They crept cautiously, keeping their eyes peeled for any nearby enemies, but none had been spotted yet. The streets were dead quiet with only the distant sound of guns firing breaking the stillness. Soft white snow fell from the sky, silent and cold, but at the same time, comforting and familiar. Petya and Natasha were used to the cold, having lived through these harsh freezing winters all their lives. Renton on the other hand was lucky enough to even get a snow flurry back home; his town was close to the sea, and he rarely got snow. But on the few and far-between occasions he did, he enjoyed every minute of it and would sometimes spend hours upon hours outside, running romping and playing in the white cold soft substance. When he didn't get snow, however, he got large amounts of rain and fog. Temperatures back home were usually cold enough to keep one wrapped up somewhat, but nothing like this. Renton didn't seem to mind though; he thoroughly enjoyed the cold weather and found Russia to be beautiful in the winter. Everything was covered under a large white blanket of gentle snow, as if in long-lasting sleep and subconscious patience for the arrival of spring. Petya and Natasha did not question Renton's love for the cold and the snow, because they had come to expect that kind of thing from him after knowing him for so long. The weather mattered not, however, as they all were still the strong and happy group of friends they were four years ago that late summer day in August when Renton came into Stalingrad for the first time.

They came to a road intersection and stacked up against a wall, afraid to proceed any further without first knowing what was down each road. They knew behind them there was nothing. They could tell that in front of them there was nothing. To their right, there was nothing. To their left, what was there they knew not. All feared the possibility of a German patrol present down that road, or worse, a German hard point or machinegun nest. Natasha, acting as lead scout, was at the head of the small column, her head inches away from the apex of the building's corner. She breathed heavily, her breaths forming small masses of pale white smoke in the cold air. She didn't want to look and see what was beyond the cold dark street. She turned, with concerned doe brown eyes, looking to her friend Renton and her fiancé Petya for help and support.

"I can't see what is down there," she said, her voice shaking slightly.

Petya immediately stepped up and placed a gloved hand on her shoulder, calming her down with his soothing caring voice, softer than the kind cooing words of a mother comforting a child in distress.

"Don't worry, Natasha. We will help you."

"How?"

"I have an idea."

Petya turned to Renton with opaque blue eyes, like the deep murky waters of the open sea, and outstretched his hand. He opened his mouth slowly to speak, his words forming small puffs of white smoke.

"Renton, do you have a mirror?"

Renton raised an eyebrow in confusion. Why would he ask that? Wouldn't he normally volunteer to scout ahead and see what was down the road?

"What do you need it for?"

"Do you have one or don't you?" he asked again, his voice firm with resolve, a stone wall unbreakable.

"Let me check."

Renton searched through his coat pockets and felt nothing. Then he searched through his trouser pockets and felt something smooth like glass. He pulled it out and found to the delight of everyone a small mirror, smaller than the palm of his hand. He handed it to Petya who then passed it on to Natasha. She slowly extended her arm outwards, just past the corner of the building and out into the open, like a new plant slowly sprouting from the soil. She looked intently at the mirror glass, and saw there was nothing down the road. A small scrap piece of paper flew by, as the snow silently continued to fall, covering the street in a white sheet. She sighed in relief and handed the mirror back to Renton.

"Thank you, Renton. It's all clear; we can go ahead."

Renton nodded and followed Natasha and Petya as they ran across the street to the other side of the building, the street slightly covered in a wintry white haze, like a blanket of mist. The trio seemed unmindful of the cold around them and the snow falling lightly on top of them as they slowly trudged on. Renton tried to keep up while at the same time looking behind him and hoping that no Germans were following him. In the chaos of constant fighting, the battle lines were fluid and ever moving; what belonged to the Germans one day might be captured by the Soviets the next and vice versa. Once could never be certain of the next German attack. He then turned ahead to view his two companions, accompanying each other and bearing each other's burden in the harsh freezing cold. Petya walked close beside his fiancée, keeping his hand in hers, holding it tightly never wanting to let go. Renton clenched his fist and his thoughts quickly moved to Eureka at the pace of a galloping horse. And when his thoughts found Eureka, he was confronted with the same questions that tormented him since the day war came.

Why? Why did he have to leave her when he did? Why did war have to come when it did? Why did war have to come to _her_ country, _her_ city, _her_ home? Why couldn't he have just stayed with her?

He wanted to go back. He wanted to go back to those simpler times when there was no war, when there was no suffering or pain. He wanted to go back to those times when there was only Eureka and her family. Back to the days when there was only their happiness. He felt a tear trickle down his face and freeze instantly in the cold icy air. He scraped off the frozen tear and looked at it intently as they walked.

It was clear, so he could see the palm of his gloved hand on the other side. He saw small tiny orbs of shining light like twinkling stars in the wintry sky. They must be salt particles, he thought. In the small frozen tear, he could the reflection of his 16-year-old self clearly. Piercing dark green eyes. Wild and shaggy oak brown hair. Small but maturing face, like an egg hatching. There was a feeling of depression and brooding in the boy's face, lamenting over things lost to him over the many years since that last day in Russia. And what had been gained? Nothing. Only sorrow and torment.

He blinked and for a moment, a brief fleeting moment, he saw Eureka in his frozen tear, her face brimming with happiness and joy. Her dark wavy hair streaked behind her and flew in the cold December wind. Her soft colored eyes shone with a kindness he had seen in her since they first met each other those four long years ago. She smiled, a light emanating from her teeth which seemed brighter than the sun, brighter than the light of Paradise. He saw further that she was laughing, and he could almost hear her innocent playful laugh. The most beautiful sound in the world. More beautiful than the strings of any classical score. He wanted to hear her laugh again but the apparition disappeared as quickly as it came, serving only to agonize him more.

He hurried on, following his two friends into a nearby office building, accompanying them up the steps to one of the upper floors, all the while his mind and his thoughts never shifting away from the thought of Eureka. Not just Eureka. Her brothers. Her whole family. The days he spent with her. All the feelings, all the times, all the beautiful and dearest days and memories they shared. It seemed like only yesterday when he first walked into their flat, and greeted them all with a bright warm smile. From that day on, they were all family. They were all kin, and inseparable. They shared the best times and worst times together for three and a half weeks. And they grew closer than Renton had ever been with anyone back home. It was a distant memory, yet it seemed so close by he could touch it. And then it was gone. The day he boarded a train to a ship to take him back home was the day when the happiness came to an end.

"This is the floor," Natasha said as she opened up the door and stepped in. Renton looked in and took stock of the surroundings they were settling into, like birds setting up a nest in a newly found tree.

It was a modest room, what looked to be a small office of some businessmen, evidenced by the overturned desks, tables and chairs. There was however a lack of office paper which he deduced was long gone, victims of the wind as glass was no longer present in the windows, all broken. The room for the most part was bare of adornments and knick-knacks, other than the aforementioned desks and tables. In the walls there were gaping holes making it able to see into the next room, which was an even barer room with hardly anything in it at all. It was an ordinary room to him. To Natasha, looking at it with a trained sniper's eye, it was the perfect nest.

She sat beside a large hole a medium hole in the wall, and aimed her scoped Mosin-Nagant through it, covering herself in her black cloak, leaving only a part of her face visible. Petya knelt next to her and leaned on the wall next to a window, occasionally looking out for any possible targets for her to snipe. Renton in the meantime took a position in the corner of the room away from Natasha and Petya next to another window, looking in the opposite direction for any oncoming Germans to be potential targets.

Then the waiting began. The worst part of being a sniper. The awful agonizing long bouts of waiting. The waiting that only seemed to prolong his torment.

Renton sighed quietly as he looked out the window, seeing it deserted. There was only the occasional scrap of paper or a bag flying in the wind, and the soft silent white snow falling onto the surface of a bruised scarred earth. His glassy and bloodshot piercing green eyes gazed aimlessly and purposelessly, skirting the barren and lifeless snow-covered street. He could faintly smell the pall of smoke from burning buildings in the distance. His ears barely made out the faraway sound of gunfire and cannons booming, evidence that the peaceful street was still part of a warzone, one that covered the entire city. This place, a dear place of his memories, once a beautiful sight to behold, had become a battlefield, and every citizen was a target for possible attack.

On that idea, his thoughts drifted to Eureka. Where was she? Was she even still alive? Had she survived this hellfire and horror? Did she still even remember him?

Well, he knew she was here. According to everyone in the company, she was still alive. And she remembered him very well. It seemed she had not forgotten the American boy she met those four years ago when she was an innocent girl of nine and he a naïve boy of 12. All the horrors and God-awful nightmares this war had wrought upon her home and her country had not deterred her in thinking about him. He smiled and laughed quietly. She couldn't forget me, he thought retrospectively. She is not the kind to just forget about me like that. We had such wonderful fun times together. We always enjoyed each other's company. We were the best of friends.

In fact…he pondered…were they ever something more than just good friends? Granted, he always enjoyed spending time with her and loved her company, but was it…what everyone said it was? They both grieved at leaving each other when the time came, and he thought about her almost always since then. Yet…yet…

What was this? Why did his heart stir and yet hesitate so? What was driving this madness that served only to torment him and his very being to its core? What was this emotion he felt when he thought of her?

Suddenly he heard her sweet innocent soothing voice, asking that damning heartrending question that made his soul ache in pain.

_Rentoshka, if you were destined to stay in Russia forever, or if I was a citizen of your country, would you and I have fallen in love?_

His right hand tightened its grip on the wooden stock of his rifle and his left clutched at his heart. He felt a searing pain, more damnable and more excruciating than the worst form of torture imaginable. It felt like his heart was on fire, but not the fire that one would feel warm next to; it felt that some personage had poured kerosene all over his heart and set it ablaze, burning right through his very being. To complement the fire in its horrendous objective, he felt the grip of someone's hand twisting and choking it, locked in a deadly grip, squeezing every last ounce of life…and happiness…out of him. To top all other sensations off, his heart felt pierced and wounded…mortally. It felt no different than if someone had just taken a knife and stabbed him.

He felt a sudden need, nay an urge, to find her. To comfort her. To console her. To hide her away from all the evil and wickedness of the world. To find joy, peace, calm, in her presence. Her cooing gentle voice, her sympathetic radiant eyes, her pillow-soft hair, even her soft and yet intoxicating scent.

For a moment, he could sense her by his side. He could hear her soothing voice like the coo of a dove. He could detect her inviting and flowery aroma. He closed his eyes for a moment and saw her again, her happy wide smile that ran from ear to ear only serving to sadden him more. What damage had he done by leaving her, here? What _right_ had he to make her go through this horror, her home a burning ruin, her life definitely in shambles, her mind surely at wits' end? He hated himself so much for leaving her all alone to suffer like this. She didn't deserve it. A kindhearted sincere and innocent little girl like her deserved none of it.

He blamed himself, simply because he could see fault in no other. He left her alone. He went back to his country when the time came. But the times that followed were not the ones he had hoped for. He never wanted any of this. He left her, and by providing no refuge for her to seek comfort, his absence contributed to her suffering.

"I deserve to die…" he whispered under his breath, his voice quivering and shaking in the pit of his own guilt.

His words caught the attention of Natasha and Petya, who looked over and saw their friend in pain, unable to aim his rifle as his hands shook, unable to keep his eyes open as they unleashed a flood of tears, unable to control the quivering and uneasiness in his voice as he was so wracked with his own guilt.

"What makes you say that my friend?" Petya said gently.

"I'm…" he said, his voice giving in to the enormous weight he was carrying on his soul. "I'm a terrible friend…"

"Don't say that, Renton. You are the best friend anyone could have. The fact you came back proves that."

Upon hearing that, Renton only broke down further, burying his face in his gloved hands, unable to control himself.

"But…Eureka…I…"

"She is all right, Renton; you don't have to worry," Petya said softly trying to reassure his friend.

This time, Natasha spoke, seeing something else from their friend in this mentally broken state of guilt and shame.

"Petya…I think it's something else." Petya looked at his fiancée with puzzled inquiring blue eyes, the fire that was once in them only yesterday slightly died down.

"What do you mean?"

"You should know what I mean, lyubimi."

Natasha looked at him the same way they saw each other when he proposed to her out near the River Don some six months before. She gave a stare that could look straight into another's soul, and read everything like an open book. Petya knew instinctively what she meant by that stare. There was something larger at play here inside the heart of their dispirited friend. Something larger than he could hope to understand.

"Renton…you shouldn't blame yourself for anything Eureka has suffered," Natasha said looking up from her sniper rifle.

Renton looked up at her, as if wondering if she had spoken something otherworldly or ungodly. Bright and anguish filled tears stood in his eyes, each one that fell begging the question of what he could do and why he had come in the first place. It was to help Eureka. It was to keep a promise that he had failed to uphold. He shook his head, his brown hair waving from side to side like the tail of an innocent puppy dog.

"How can you say that? I left her alone…with no one to help her or comfort her when this horrible war came. I…I couldn't help her."

"That's not your fault, Renton. Could you have predicted a war?"

"You cannot blame yourself for what you cannot control," Petya added, concurring.

Renton only broke down further upon hearing Petya's words of consolation. No, it was not just because all this had happened. It was not just because of the war! No one could have predicted what would have happened, but he still left her all alone! She had no one to turn to when times looked their darkest! When Russia seemed on the brink of defeat, he had felt the need to swim across the deepest oceans, bear the coldest harshest Siberian winters and brave the hottest hellfire of war to find her, even if he could only say one word to her it would have been enough.

"But…I left her all alone! I wasn't there for her when she needed a shoulder to rest on! I wasn't there when she needed someone to be there for her! I promised her that I would always be there for her when she needed comfort…and for so long…I have failed to keep that promise."

"I wouldn't say that, Renton," Petya said placing a hand on his heavy shoulder and his small mouth slowly transforming into a gentle caring smile. "I'd say you are fulfilling that promise."

Renton's eyes widened to the size of saucers as he turned to his kind friend, one of the fast friends he had made here and for a moment he saw into his very soul. Their souls, their inner selves were as one in that moment, the thoughts of those two soldiers, those two friends from long past, were joined together, like links in a long chain.

"Renton," Natasha interjected, looking at him with the eyes of a caring mother, "you went home because you had another life to lead. Eureka and the rest of us had lives we had to lead. None of us could have predicted what would happen after you left. None of us could have foreseen the war coming. You're not the one to blame for what has happened. It's the fault of this war."

"Da, pravda," Petya said, agreeing with Natasha. "It's the war that has been causing the pain for all of us. You don't have to blame yourself for anything Renton."

"If you go back to Eureka, your return will forgive everything and anything you have done to harm her."

"Do you think so?" Renton asked, the flow of tears slowing to a mere trickle.

Natasha and Petya smiled assuredly, knowing they were speaking the truth and knowing how much Renton truly cared for Eureka. He was exactly like them. He fought for something he loved. The political struggle against fascism, oppression, and tyranny held not but a candle to a cause far greater than that of any political goal to be gained in war: to fight for love. That was his true method to the madness under his stoic and altruist reasons he propagated for coming here and getting himself mixed in this business. Fighting for love was the greatest cause to champion. The fight for pay, for land, for conquest, for the rush and thrill of battle, all were dwarfed and overshadowed by the larger, greater, nobler cross to bear: to fight tyranny and the whole world in order to be free to love.

"We know so," they said in unison.

With the matter supposedly resolved, Natasha and Petya both returned to the window, keeping an eye out for any stray Germans stupid enough to come by into their range. Natasha soon spotted one come around the street corner, looking lost and bewildered. She chuckled to herself and leveled her rifle, trying to aim right for the eye, the crosshairs of her sniper scope moving around like a floating feather in the wind. She repeated to herself the words that had guided her through training.

_I am a rock. I am a stone. I do not move. I take my time, and let him come out. I have no fear. I have no second thoughts._

"There's one coming down the street right now," Petya remarked pointing a gloved finger to the oblivious German soldier.

"I got him," Natasha said, already working on getting a shot.

The German stopped and looked around, checking his ammunition belt for any spare clips. Natasha smiled and slowly squeezed on the trigger, the shot mere split seconds away. Just as he raised his head and took another step forward…

BANG!

The rifle spoke with a crack that broke the still biting silence and down went the German with a clear shot through the head, breaking the sheet metal Stahlhelm that sat upon his head. He fell face first into the snow, and stained the white blanket a crimson bright red. Natasha breathed a deep sigh and disposed of the empty cartridge with a retracting and shifting of the rifle's heavy metal bolt.

Renton saw the shot, a beautiful one at that. He was trained as a huntsman by his father, often tracking wild turkeys in the untamed backcountry near his father's old farm. He often had shooting competitions with Eureka's brothers, and he proved to be a very good shot, on par with the Novikov brothers. But none of them ever thought this would horrible war would come to pass, especially not to the motherland. It did not seem possible that this invasion was still happening, that the war was still going on now for more than three years. He never thought he would have to pick up a gun and intentionally take another person's life. He never thought he would get involved in this. How was he to deal with the sin? How was he to carry the great burden, the worst act a man can commit? How would he come to grips with the fact he had blood on his hands? How would he live with himself afterwards? He had to know.

"How do you manage to keep fighting, even after taking so many lives?"

"Shto-shto2?" responded Petya, having not heard him the first time.

"It must weigh on you a lot of the time, taking so many lives."

Petya sighed and shook his head. He knew full well the burden that he and Natasha carried. It was a burden that was assigned to every soldier, be him Russian, German, Italian, Japanese, British or American. In order to win, one had to kill. That was war. That was the unchanging irrefutable fact of war. How ironic it was that they were fighting for world peace by destroying the lives of others. How cruel irony was.

"They're no different than dead dogs once you get used to the idea," Petya said resignedly.

He was consigned to his fate. He could do nothing to change the world in how man conducted himself. Man was more often than not driven by irrational fear and hatred by anything else. And yet they are still alive, still living in this world run by mankind's dark side. His fears motivated the actions he took. His prejudices motivated who he blamed. His ancient hatreds fueled the war. The undeniable truth of man was he was at his heart no different from an animal.

"Do you believe that?" Renton asked sincerely.

"None of us wanted this, Renton. We feel the same as you, but we can't do anything to change the way man is."

"That's where you are wrong, my dear Petya," Natasha corrected him, not looking up from her sniper scope. "There is one thing each of us can do."

"What is that?" both asked inquisitively of their close friend.

"Live, and love."

"What do you mean?" Renton asked, desperately wanting to know her secret to living.

Natasha turned away from her scope and looked at her friend, her former love interest who had returned to them after four years. Her dark brown eyes seemed to illuminate in an otherworldly light as a small ray of sun broke through the clouds and shone through the open glassless window. Upon looking into her eyes, Renton no longer could see the feisty and fun-loving girl he met four years ago. The childish innocence had dissipated replaced with a hardened determination to end the war and return to normalcy. She opened her mouth showing her clean white teeth and spoke with the caring voice of an older sister,

"My personal victory in this war will be my being able to return home alive, with Petya. My victory over the Germans is to live. If I want to love, then I have to live. If I want to live, I have to love. You cannot have one without the other, so our victory over this evil is our being able to love. That is what allows me to carry the burden."

Petya nodded in obvious agreement and then turned his deep seawater blue eyes to Renton's sharp piercing dark green ones, and saw both had grown up profoundly. Renton had grown to know what it feels to care for another, desperately longing to see her just one more time, if only for a fleeting moment. Petya was not the laughing and thrill-seeking 13 year old boy he first met in Stalingrad. The bright eagerness in his eyes had given in to a solid resolve to start a life after this horrible war was finished.

"I chose to fight because I knew that if we did nothing, the Germans would roll over us. But the thing I search for in this war is a way to peace. If I can find it, I can return home, and start life over with Natasha. If I can't, then at least I will have fought for the woman I love."

Renton nodded, understanding what they meant. They were able to bear their sins with full and whole hearts because of the light that shone at the end of the dark path. Yes, there was a light. There was a method to this madness. The fight was not to destroy; the fight was to bring an end to destruction! The war was not to continue conquest; it was to end conquest! They were not driving the world to darkness; they were dragging it back to the light! Yes, that which was good honorable _did _still exist! There _were _still things that everyone held sacred and incorruptible!

Behind those dark grey skies of war above, there hid a sun, and a blue sky waiting to show itself again to the world once it had gone through the fiery trials of Hell. Behind those clouds the rays of the sun shone upon the world, bearing the smile of God. Behind those clouds the stars danced in the skies at night to remind all the beauty of life despite all the horrors and hardships that came with it. Behind those clouds outside of their temporary hunting spot, there was life. There was love. There was the world that was bright and shining, but merely hiding somewhere behind the dark clouds of war.

His hands gripped tightly on the barrel of his rifle, but not in fear or of hesitation or torment, but of determination. He would fight, if only to find her. He would fight if only to take her away from the horrors of the world. He would fight, simply because too much had been lost already. He would find her, and he would find peace at the end of this horrible debacle. The world would change, and all of this violence will be merely paragraphs written in the pages of the history books.

Another crack from Natasha's rifle filled the air as she shot down another German who had entered her range. She sighed as she opened and then closed the bolt of the rifle, and rose from her spot, standing firmly on her booted feet.

"We need to relocate."

"Relocate?" Renton repeated in bewilderment. He never heard that word before.

"We have to move to another location or else the Germans will come looking for us. It's never good for a sniper to stay in one spot for too long."

"Let's head back then. Everyone is probably getting worried about us."

They needn't say anymore, as they all left the room. Renton led the way cautiously down the stairs to the bottom floor. Outside the cold wind blew in a howl, louder than the cry of a wolf calling for its pack. The snow fell silently, slowly, like leaves falling from the trees in November. All was still, and quiet. There existed not a single sign of life outside of those doors, but there was no way he or anyone could be sure. He and Petya stacked up against the wall and carefully, cautiously, looked out both sides for any approaching Germans. There were none to be seen, either left or right. It was clear to move out.

"Poshli3," Renton whispered, motioning his hand to follow them.

They turned right and headed to the street corner, turning right again, and heading back to where the rest of the company was waiting for them. No sooner had they turned the corner when Renton and his two friends heard the cry of voices behind them.

"Das ist ein Scharfschütze! Feuer! Feuer!"

Germans. They had been waiting for them to come out. It was a setup by them. Crafty krauts, he cursed to himself. Clever, but not enough. He grabbed the end of his Mosin-Nagant and just as he turned to fire at the Germans he knew were there a bullet whizzed by him. The bullet cut across his right cheek a few inches below his right eye. It was a mere scratch by battlefield standards, but it stung with the venom of a thousand hornets. The very shock of the wound sent him down on the ground, but he managed to fire off one shot, and knock down one German right through his steel helmet. Petya covered Renton and fired off several rounds from his PPSh, killing two more enemies who went down faster than a bag of hammers. Natasha picked off the remaining German who turned and ran, getting him right through the back of his helmet killing him instantly and outright. They then turned their attention to their wounded friend, still recovering from the sheer shock of that graze.

"You are lucky, Renton," Petya said smiling. "The bullet just scratched you."

"Maybe, but it hurt like hell," Renton replied, holding his gloved hand near his wound, holding back the tide of blood from his cut.

They all laughed as they helped Renton up and quickly set off back to where their company was waiting for them. Renton minded not his first wound in battle or how badly it stung. If he had friends like Petya and Natasha who would always be there to help him console him and comfort him when he needed that support, then his struggle here would not be in vain.

_6__th__ July, 1941_

_Dear Renton,_

_It's been an awful two weeks since your letter. The only news we hear from the radio each day is defeat after defeat on the battlefield. Germany is gaining ground fast, and no matter how hard we try to mount a resistance, nothing seems to work. There's a great sense of panic and fear in the city. We wonder where Germany will strike to. Minsk in Belorussia and Riga in Latvia have already fallen, but Smolensk is now coming under threat as well. The Germans have not made a push towards Kiev, but Father wrote to say he believes that is where the next strike will head towards. _

_Many of our friends have already left the city. Just yesterday I said goodbye to Petya, Natasha, Ken-Goh and Anatole. They all signed up the moment the news reached them. As I found out, they have been placed under Vladimir's command, and his unit is being shipped out to the Ukraine in preparation for an attack there. Dewey has not yet been transferred, but he wrote me saying he is waiting on the word of his colonel. _

_Father left us the day of the invasion on a train bound for Moscow and Central Command. We all cried at his parting, and he ordered Holland and Mikhail to look after me. We promised him that we would stay strong in this dark hour, like all children of the Novikov family. He is being put in charge of the Central Front under a man named Zhukov. I have never heard of this Georgi Zhukov, but Father said he is a good man, and an excellent soldier. I have to believe him, because there is so little to believe in anymore. _

_We're all that's left of your visit here. All the others are gone. And I've never been more afraid in my entire life. _

_Your words touch me, Renton, more than the speech that a local city politician gave days ago. I wish as much as anyone in this city that things could go back to the way they were. Those were happier more carefree days when we didn't have to worry about fascism or economic downturn or war. What is sad is things __have__ changed, just as you said, and we can't go back to those happier days. _

_Renton, there is nothing more I want than to see you again, but I fear as things are now that might not be possible, at least not for me. I can't travel on my own now, as the government has given strict orders to not make any unnecessary travelling. Is there any way you can come to meet me?_

_The city lies empty today. Orders are to stay inside and observe a blackout. We can't waste unnecessary energy when our soldiers and factories need it now more than ever. Even though I am always with Holland and Mikhail, I still feel so lonely. Every day that passes, my thoughts continue to drift toward you. What are you doing now? How is your town responded to this terrible news? Is your father alright? Your letters give me sanctuary for all the terror that happens in this world. _

_I don't know where our days together went, Renton. I wish I could get them back. _

_Write me back as often as you can. Your words give me comfort._

_Your dearest friend,_

_Eureka_

1 The name of the large hill overlooking Stalingrad. It was the site of intense fighting during the battle.

2 "What did you say?"

3 "Let's go."


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note: In the original version of this story, Jane had a minimal role, that of a side character. Over time she grew to be an important character providing not only a foil to Renton but also acting as a secondary romantic interest, even if it was one-sided. I wrote this chapter with the intent of keeping her relevant to the story, and illuminating more about her character, as well as why she values Renton as a friend. Hope you enjoy this one. And if you concentrate when reading, you might spot cameos of two characters from the original Eureka Seven series!**

* * *

**Chapter Eight**

**December 17****th****, 1942**

**Bellforest, California, USA**

It was a cold, dark, leaden day. There was light rain outside, which pattered against the glass windows of her house. The distant boom of thunder echoed through the town that, even though it had always been so prosperous, seemed emptier than a ghost town. She sat alone, as she always did on days at home. Her deep blue eyes beheld a sense of dread, as she clutched in her hand a white envelope. The name across the front read:

_Captain Renton I. Thurston_

_1__st__ Company, 150__th__ Infantry Battalion, 12__th__ Guards Division, 62__nd__ Army_

_Stalingrad, USSR_

It had what she could only guess was a military seal on the back, bearing the emblem of the Soviet Union: The hammer and sickle crossed together inside of a red star. She feared what was in this letter, for what reason she could not fathom. It was a miracle that a letter had even come to her, as she feared that Renton would not even bother writing her and leave her distraught for an entire month, perhaps more. Finally after what felt like weeks of silence, she had received this letter.

Yet she could not dare to look in it. Every possible worst case scenario raced through her consciousness to answer what could possibly be in that letter.

He had been wounded, mortally, and this was his last will and testament to her.

He had been captured, and this was his final goodbye.

He had found the girl he was looking for, and this was his message that he would stay behind.

A thunderclap sounded in the distance, and a tear fell from her eye in sync. What horrors could he be facing in that martyred city that might as well be lost? What terrors must he endure day after day while searching for his friend?

_That_ was what caused her far more pain than any bullet he might catch. He was risking his life for another. And not just any other, but a girl he had made friends with. A girl who might hold him close to her heart, closer than any girl that he had encountered. Just thinking of it made her not only grieve, but seethe. She could not understand why, and that only deepened her depression. All she could do was throw the envelope at the wall in a mixture of frustration, fear, and jealousy.

A distraction was needed, and needed badly.

Another thunderclap echoed through the town, and gave her an idea. Without a word or any second thought, she grabbed her light blue cloak and hood off her coat rack and quickly went out the door…into the rain.

Her feet carried her in the direction of downtown, although she had no idea where she _could _go, or what she _could_ do for that matter, on this most dreary of days. As the rain slowly drenched her hooded cloak, she noticed again how silent and how empty the town felt, and how curious it was that this town would give the appearance of abandonment. It was a modest community if ever there was one, dwarfed by London by several thousand miles easily. Sometimes it would be a struggle to get home from school, pushing past ranks and ranks of passersby, enduring the street performers at Piccadilly Square, and timing just the right moment to cross the busy roads in the Westminster Borough.

She had been here more than two years now, and she could remember a time when cars were a common sight in this small town. Now they were as rare as the Egyptian ibis. People preferred their feet for such a small community like this, and it was cost-effective, no question. As much as she had been raised as a proper London lady, there was a great mystique about a small country town to her. A quaintness, a sense of innocence, a sense of timelessness. She felt it every day she traversed the paved streets, passed the mission-style school campus, and sat in welcoming cafes.

On her first day in this little valley town buried beneath the headlands, she had felt like she might as well be on Mars. The lack of constant hustle, the absence of tall department stores, and the abundance of bungalows, villas, and row houses was alien to a girl who had been born and bred in a metropolis. However, that sense of shock was softened, as she had been greatly accepted by the people in a short time. Even if she was a foreigner through and through, she still managed to ease in with the higher social creatures here; she had no power here, and might as well be a displaced refugee, yet she still found favor among those with money here, most of whom were children of magnates from such cities as San Francisco, San Jose, and even Los Angeles.

At the thought of those cities which were, in her mind, the epitome of class, opulence, and lavishness in this part of the country, another thunderclap boomed in the distance. She laughed sardonically as she brushed off excess rainwater from her cloak.

_Sunny California. What a joke._

Upon reaching a street corner, she took a turn, now entering the downtown business section. Almost immediately she was greeted by someone she didn't expect to see.

It was a girl roughly her age, with short oak brown hair cut in bangs that accentuated her bright-lit eyes of silver. She wore a one piece maroon dress with pockets and long sleeves, while her legs were covered by black stockings and white loafers. In her delicate hands she carried a white umbrella patterned with flowers of all different species. She was a friend from school, and one who instantly recognized her under her hood.

"Jane!" she chirped, happy to see her, "What are you doing in this god-awful weather?"

"Hullo, Alice," Jane returned, smiling beneath her hood. "I'm just wandering around, I suppose. I'm in need of a distraction."

"Well, I've found the perfect distraction! Follow me!"

This girl, Alice, was one of Jane's first friends when she started school in this quiet town. Alice came from one of the wealthier families in the area, as her father ran the lumber mill that provided the town's foundation, and a good majority of work. Jane, being from an affluent background herself, managed to fit right in with Alice and her cohorts. Such was her lot in this community for the entirety of her residence here. She instinctively huddled beneath her friend's umbrella, and immediately became subject to the innocent interrogation of this bright-eyed lady fair.

"The cafe has got a special sale going on," Alice began. "Buy one drink and you get a snack free of charge."

"Sounds like quite the lucrative offer," Jane agreed.

"I was looking for someone to share it with, but Francine and Marsha aren't budging from their houses. Can't say I blame them with this weather."

Jane reached her hand out and felt the gentle refreshing drops of rain in her palm.

"I rather like it. It's very refreshing. Not to mention it reminds me a little of home."

As if on cue, a thunderclap made her jump.

"You were saying?" Alice giggled.

They walked on in silence, and as they crossed the road and headed toward the cafe in the center of town, Jane shifted her eyes to her feet, encased in black boots that created small splashes in the pavement with each step she took. In a moment she thought she saw the rain as snow, and was no longer in Bellforest but in Stalingrad. She imagined Renton huddled in a rundown apartment somewhere, shivering in the freezing cold, trying to escape from enemies unknown. Even if he was searching for a girl, she couldn't help but sympathize for that poor boy.

"What's got you down, Jane?" Alice broke in. "You're looking all blue."

"I got a letter today."

"From your brother? Is he okay?"

"No, not from my brother. From Renton."

At the mention of his name, Alice puckered her lips, as if she had just taken a swallow of some bitter medicine.

"Oh, him," she said, with a slight note of disdain.

"What do you mean?" Jane replied, sensing hostility from her.

"I'm just still at a loss that you're chasing after that guy," Alice spat in contempt. "Honestly, Jane, what do you see in him?"

"I hardly find anything wrong with him."

Alice looked to her in a shock, as if she had just uttered something in an alien language.

"Oh, really? You don't? Why don't we start with how gloomy and dark he is? He never talks to anyone outside of his friends or you! I don't think I've even seen him smile once. Not once, I tell you!"

"He's smiled when he's with me…" Jane muttered defensively.

"My point is he doesn't ever talk to anyone outside of you. Being so reclusive like that…it's just not human."

Jane glared hard, feeling deeply offended that this girl, her best friend, could even talk so disparagingly about someone like him.

"Are you implying there is something mentally wrong with him?"

"I'm not saying that…" Alice retorted, pouting. "What I'm saying is he's so unapproachable. It's a shock that he even _has_ friends. They must all be as gloomy as he is…"

Jane, now seething in anger at her friend's name being defamed and libeled, grabbed Alice by the arm, her eyes strikingly cold as ice. Her determined and stern stare helped to drain any color from Alice's face, as she had never before felt such anger, such frustration, or such discontent with anyone she ever knew.

"Now, look here, Alice: I know as well as anyone that Renton isn't the most sociable person on Earth, and there has to be a reason for why he is like that. But nothing gets me crosser than when someone slanders him behind his back! Am I clear?"

"Gosh, Jane," Alice said, still in shock that her friend could be that forceful, "What's your problem? Sounds to me like you love the guy or something…"

Jane blushed at the very thought of it. Of course he was a precious friend, unlike any she ever made in this country. But to go so far as love? The thought seemed farfetched at best. Of course, that wasn't to say he wouldn't be a rightful candidate as a significant other; he was thoughtful, kind, considerate, and certainly brave. But that thought was for another time at another place.

"It's not a matter of me loving him…" she started. "It's a matter that I'm his friend, whether you like him or not. And I definitely know that friends should not defame other friends."

Alice scoffed and groaned as they entered the cafe. She shook the excess water from her umbrella as they stepped into the small line towards the counter. As Jane eyed the menu on the chalkboard above the counter, Alice continued on about all the faults she found in Renton.

"If you ask me, I'd say he probably left for Russia to get killed. I guess he finally got the hint that no one likes him around here."

"For your information, that's not why he left. He has a friend there who needs his help."

Alice perked up her eyebrows in marked interest.

"Now _that's_ news to me. Who is it? Did he tell you?"

"He told me she was someone he met a long time ago…someone who needed him more than ever now."

The last words struck her heart deeper and more sharply than any that Renton said to her before he left. The thought of fighting for another girl, a girl who may hold him close and considering him more than simply a friend, was difficult for her young self to bear.

"She?" Alice repeated, now burning with curiosity. "Didn't think he'd be the kind to have a girlfriend…"

"She isn't," Jane corrected, with some hesitation in her voice. "At least, not based on what he told me."

"Still, it'd be a big surprise if she were. That's another thing that bothers me about you and him: you're the only girl that he talks to in this entire town. All the others avoid him like the plague."

"They avoid him?" Jane repeated, now burning with a curiosity of her own. "Why?"

"He's rather plain-looking," Alice said complacently. "I can't point out a single distinguishing feature on him. He's not very athletic either; he's like a string bean! I've seen him get beaten down so many times!"

"That's how I met him, actually."

Alice ordered her drink, which was a hot chocolate, and quickly got a chocolate-filled croissant as the free snack as she faced Jane with surprise.

"You met him by beating him up?"

"No, no!" Jane clarified, waving her hands as she moved up in line. "I saw a bunch of boys throw him into a locker and scatter his books everywhere. I helped him pick up the books before going to class. _That's_ how I met him."

Jane paid for her drink, a hot cup of chamomile tea with lemon and took as her snack a shortbread biscuit before joining Alice again in this debate over the merits of her relationship with Renton.

"If I had been with you," Alice speculated, "I would've told you to just stay out of it completely."

"What makes you say that?" Jane protested. "Don't you think he deserves a little more respect than everyone gives him? A lot more, in fact?"

Alice, stunned into silence by Jane defending the boy who was possibly the most ostracized, put-upon, and unpopular in school, sat down to take in a sip of chocolate, as if the taste of that substance might sober her mind to all that she was hearing. Jane had been part of the in-crowd since the day she entered the campus, and when it came to intermingling with the other social castes, she had been at best indifferent to all of them. That changed when Renton first entered the picture. Something about him drew her to him; she couldn't explain it to herself, nor could she easily explain it to the others. But since the day she helped him pick up books, she drew an eye of distrust from her friends and social equals. This was akin to dissension in the ranks.

"Where is this all coming from, Jane?" Alice asked, suspicion evident in her voice. "Are you sure you don't love him?"

"I already told you I don't!" Jane spluttered, quite fed up by Alice's continuous jabs and slanders against Renton. "I just don't like the amount of hostility you have toward him. I think he deserves far better than what he gets at school, quite frankly."

"Tell you what: if you explain to me what you see in that guy, maybe I can try to respect him a little."

Jane curtly drank from her tea before going off into a monologue about him. Alice had to know what made Renton the dynamic boy she thought him to be, and what made him a hero in her eyes. Renton deserved more than what poor treatment he got from his peers in school. Always since the day she met him, she had been one of the only friends he could readily depend on. Now after being away for two weeks, people were beginning to feel the effects of his absence. From the highest echelons to the lowliest beggar, everyone noticed the different aura of the town with his departure to fight, die, and search for his friend. Jane had heard enough of the slander and the lies; now it was time for the truth.

"Renton is one of the most caring, considerate and brave people I have ever known in my life," Jane said plainly, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. "There are very few boys I've met that are like him."

"What makes you say that?"

"Doesn't the fact he has traveled all the way to Russia to help his friend prove it? I certainly know I could never do the same for my brother in North Africa if given the opportunity. For God's sake: he's in a _warzone_, Alice! He could die any day, and he's fighting all by himself! And why? He's not in the fight for glory, honor, or anything like that. All he wants is to find his friend again. And for that, he's willing to risk his life. And if you think that's not bravery, then I am not sure what you _do_ consider bravery!"

Alice took a bite out of her warm croissant, seemingly in thought. Her eyes still didn't yield, as if begging for more evidence to be laid out in front of her. Jane happily obliged.

"I do not know a single person who is as committed to the people around him as he is. He may have few friends, but he still cherishes each one of us. If you're his friend, he is a person you can always count on, good times or bad times. He may be a little rough around the edges, but if you dig past the surface, as I have, you can find a sincere and loyal friend. And the fact he has traveled all the way to Stalingrad to search for someone he has not seen in _four years_ is proof enough to me that he is a loyal and dedicated person. Are you to tell me that is not a friend you would like in your life?"

"…that _would _be a great friend to have…" Alice muttered to herself as she drank more of her chocolate, seemingly simmering from her friend's defense of the boy who had been so easily mocked.

"Do you understand why I'm friends with him now?" Jane asked, glaring over the brim of her teacup.

"No, I still don't understand," Alice replied defiantly. "He's still so plain and dark and gloomy. It must get depressing always hanging around him."

"Perhaps if you took the time to know why he acts the way he does instead of always abusing and defaming him, you might."

"You mean talk to him?" Alice shuddered, as if the thought was sinful. "I don't think I could stand it, and I don't know how you can. He'd bore me to death! What does he even talk about to you?"

"Plenty of things. The war, what he thinks of it, what it has cost him, the people he left behind in Europe. Many things. If you ever spent some time listening to him, he can be quite insightful, I find."

"All the things I don't want to hear," Alice retorted. "If I wanted to talk to him, I wouldn't do it if I knew he was going to depress me with all those things."

Jane was fast losing her patience with this girl. As much as she was a friend to her, she had no right to sling mud at Renton, especially when she never even took the time to reach out to him. If she had no control of her senses, she would get up right now and slap Alice right across the face, launch into a tirade about why she is being selfish and unreasonable, and leave her there in the cafe alone. She merely sipped her tea, her temper rising fast and bubbling over into the sweet tea in her cup.

"You're being incredibly unfair, Alice," Jane said in reprimand. "You say all these malicious things about Renton, and you have never even taken the time to reach out to him like I have! What does it cost you to show kindness to him?"

"Don't get all high and mighty with _me_, Jane," Alice shot back. "I've tried to be nice to him and understand him, but every time I approach he just walks on and ignores me. He treats me like I don't even exist, like I'm not worth his time! If he thinks he's too good for us, then I say to hell with him. _That_ is why I don't understand how you can be friends with Renton."

Jane sighed, knowing that Alice could not be swayed. She had been set in her ways since the day she met her, and had grown accustomed to the life of privilege and power. She was born with a silver spoon in her mouth, just as Jane had been. Renton, though he was tightlipped about his background and where he came from, always seemed to be from a different place, and a different life. A life of austerity. A life of endurance. A life of loss. There was always a note of suspicion from him whenever they were together, as if she had to earn his trust. Such guarded behavior surely gave a clue to something about his past.

"Well, I suppose I'm just more accepting than you, Alice," Jane said resignedly. "But I think there is something he keeps very close to his heart. Something that explains why he is so reclusive and distrustful of other people. Whatever it is, it has to be something he only shares with the people he trusts. Perhaps that is why he only approaches me and no one else; he trusts me enough to share his secrets. Even if he never tells me why he is the way he is, it wouldn't matter to me, anyway. I enjoy his company, and I know he enjoys mine. I am glad I can be his friend, even if it means earning the scorn of you and everyone else."

»»»»»

Somehow, through some machination of either hers, Alice's, or God's, her friendship with her was not fractured in any way. It was rather surprising how they were so cordial when they finally went their separate ways; it was as if the squabble about the boy seemed wiped from both their memories. Friendship seemed to be the only thing that could endure on a cold, miserable day that threatened to tear all else apart.

Jane could still not muster the courage to return home and face what could potentially be a foreboding, ominous letter. So once again, she wandered through the town, searching for something to distract her. The downtown business section was nothing compared to London's commercial districts that she had grown so accustomed to. The shops looked more like dollhouses, and there was nary a multi-floor department store to be found anywhere. Her friends all told her that whenever she needed high-scale shopping she should travel south to San Francisco, but she was not in the business of buying a ferry ticket and travelling across the bay just to get her mind off the letter that sat in her house. She would rather enjoy that moment if…no, _when_ he finally returned.

She passed by different stores of various purposes, but found nothing that could temper her. A few uninterested pedestrians shuffled past her quickly, seeking shelter from the rain that seemed to increase in intensity with each passing moment. Whenever a solicitor offered an umbrella to her, she always refused, wishing to share in the harshness of the elements that surely Renton must be feeling now.

She heard the gentle strum of a balalaika when she passed the office of the town militia. They were comprised mostly of Russian expatriates who had fled that country when revolution hit. White émigrés, as some called them. Soldiers with nothing left to lose but their lives. Protecting a country that gave them sanctuary when their own turned against them. At the thought of Russia, once again Renton entered her mind, and she could not budge him. The sound of his voice, breathing a solemn promise to return haunted her and sent her into madness. His sharp green eyes brought melancholy to her dark blue ones.

Wasn't there any place in this town where she could find respite, reprieve?

God answered her unconscious prayer by presenting her a diner. She gladly entered, seeking some refuge from the rain.

It was a trifling little eatery, serving the traditional all-American meals she had sampled only occasionally in her two years here. The place was never full, and yet never empty. Many a day it was simply quiet, with only the sounds of clatter from the kitchen or the latest tunes from a jukebox providing background noise. Many friends and acquaintances gathered here after a hard day at school, in celebration of the end of classes, or simply in celebration of life and its pleasantries. There was no celebration of the sort to be found here today, however.

The jukebox was apparently not working today, as the only music came from the whimsy of a penny whistle, played by a teenage girl with fiery red hair in the corner. Surely an Irish immigrant, Jane thought. Next to the penny whistle girl sat a boy of the same age with jet black hair, his arm curled around the shoulder of the girl, as only a lover could. The boy sang a heartfelt nostalgic folk song from Erin's Isle, singing of happy days gone by, and days that could never be found again.

_I wish I was in Carrickfergus, only for nights in Ballygrand_

_I would swim over the deepest ocean, the deepest ocean for my love to find._

_But the sea is wide and I cannot swim over and neither have I wings to fly_

_If I could find me a handsome boatman to ferry me over to my love and die…_

It was in step with this eulogy to the past that Jane turned to the right and sat in a corner booth, shaking the excess precipitation off her cloak and hood. It was then when she realized that she sat in a place she often found Renton after trying days in the classroom. She remembered one occasion when she actually joined him for a quick lunch on the weekend, and Renton waxed poetic of this place's significance to him. It was a place of relaxation, a place for him to "drown his sorrows" as he so often put it to her, in that somber yet caring tone of his.

"Is there anything you'd like, miss?"

She looked up to see a waiter standing over the circular table, with a notepad and pencil ready.

"Just a root beer, if you please," she said politely.

"Sure thing, miss. By the way, sorry for the live entertainment. Jukebox is out of commission today for some odd reason. We put in an order for a mechanic to come by later."

"Not at all," Jane replied with a smile. "I rather like it. Soothes the nerves."

"Exactly! Helps with the digestion right?" the waiter joked. "We'll bring the root beer up right quick…"

Jane nodded, and only rested her head in her hand, listening to the nostalgic Irish tune that only evoked images of Renton, searching for a past he could never again find.

_My childhood days bring back sad reflections of happy times I spent so long ago_

_My boyhood friends and my own relations have all passed on now like melting snow._

_But I'll spend my days in endless roaming, soft is the grass, my bed is free_

_Ah, to be back in Carrickfergus on that long road down to the sea._

Just as the last chord was struck on the second verse, the penny whistle girl broke into an instrumental phase, pleasing the small crowd with variations of the melody. As she did so, the waiter brought back her root beer, and asked to be paid up front. Jane carelessly tossed a nickel his way, and immediately grabbed the mug. She was looking for something to drown her sorrows as well.

With one gulp of the bittersweet drink, she felt him next to her, partaking in a drink of his own. Simple, clear, and plain tonic water. So fitting for a stoic and austere boy as himself. What must he drink while in the Red Army? Surely the water would freeze in the cold. Perhaps an alcohol of some kind? She chuckled quietly at the thought of Renton drinking vodka, fitting the image of Russia that so many others held in their heads. He'd be out like a light in one shot of the stuff!

The black haired boy sang the last verse, seemingly lost in his own reminiscences of Erin's Isle.

_And in Kilkenny it is reported there are marble stones as black as ink_

_With gold and silver I would support her, but I'll sing no more now till I get a drink._

_I'm drunk today and I'm seldom sober, a handsome rover from town to town_

_Ah, but I'm sick now, my days are numbered so come all ye young men and lay me down._

She lightly clapped along with the rest of the patrons in the restaurant. When some offered to pay them, they refused every penny. The girl with red hair simply said it was a pleasure to share talent with those who appreciate it. It was simply a shame that one boy who, in a love of all things nostalgic and evoking images of yesteryear, would adore this song could not be there to enjoy it with them.

Indeed.

And that was the sad answer to what drove him across the seas and away from her and all else who knew him here. He could simply never let go of his past, and he would not try to, no matter how hard she and others pressed. His reason was never given, but she didn't need one. That love of old things, the affinity of days gone by, the desire to return to simpler times, was what made Renton the boy he was. She would not have him any other way than that. Perhaps it is enough he travel all the way to the Soviet Union for that longing of past connections.

To him, every person he met, ever life he touched, was precious. Any other person would simply put away their feelings of old friendships held so long ago. Not him, however. He sought to rekindle the flame that had been but a glowing ember for so long. And now, half a world away, he still searched and searched for that girl he left behind.

As she downed another swallow of root beer, an employee brought up their small radio and plugged it into a wall socket, shushing everyone as it was time for the news. All gathered around the little wooden box in hopes of news of their good old boy across the Pacific.

"_From the Eastern Front: Stalingrad still proves to be a battleground as the German 6__th__ Army digs in to hold on to the city. Russian forces have already drawn a ring of troops around the Germans, after having smashed through the lines of their Italian and Romanian allies. With each day that passes, the noose is slowly drawn tighter and tighter around the beleaguered Germany army…"_

There was a small but definite murmur among the crowd at that prospect. He might still be alive! He might be with the forces surrounding the city now, and this battle can soon end!

"…_For those Russian soldiers who have managed to survive the siege in the city this long, each day continues to be a deadly game of chance. Many new recruits barely last a week in the city, and officers are lucky to survive one day. But they are eager to capture lost ground, and have stepped up in their attacks throughout the city, pushing the Germans further and further into a hole they cannot hope to dig themselves out of…"_

"Does that mean Renton is in there in the fighting too?" the red-haired girl asked.

"Anemone, quiet!" the black-haired boy shushed her.

"_There is still no news as to when the Germans may cave in and finally surrender. It could be today, it could be tomorrow. But one thing is certain: victory is a prospect that is not in the mind of any German, living or dead in Stalingrad. The only thing they have to hope for is survival, and a quick end to this siege that began as the folly of a madman bent on world domination. The only thing we can do now is wait, and send our prayers to the brave fighting men and women of the Soviet Red Army."_

"What about Renton?" the black-haired boy protested. "Doesn't he deserve a prayer too?"

"Yeah, c'mon, announcer guy!" the red-haired girl joined in. "Don't forget our Renton!"

"_Until the next news from the front reaches this building, that is all for San Francisco radio: the number one name in news for the Bay Area!"_

The employees of the diner sighed dejectedly as they put away the radio, another hope of news about their favorite son dashed on the rocks. For all they knew, he could still be alive, and whoever ran the radio station didn't give a damn about some boy who had traveled on what anyone would call a fool's errand. But each and every patron, young or old, employee or not, could do nothing but extend their thoughts and best hopes to a boy who had forsaken the comfort of his home for those who had none. Jane only drank from her mug of root beer, a silent unknown witness to the thoughts of an entire community.

"What are we going to do if…" the black-haired boy started, his voice quivering.

The red-haired girl turned to him, as if in fear of what prospect he may suggest to them all.

"…what if Renton dies?" he eked out, his voice breaking.

"Don't you say that, Dom!" the red-haired girl snapped, an ounce of grief in her voice. "Don't you _ever_ say that! Can't you see what's going on over there? He's in this fight all by himself! He needs us to be strong for him!"

"…I just don't know what I would do…" the boy said, trying hard to suppress the tears in his eye. "He's always been there for us when we needed him. To think that he could die…I just can't…!"

The girl and the boy embraced each other tightly, sharing their fears and encouraging the other to lift their chins up. After all, what would Renton say to all of them if he saw them like this? Was this any way to help volunteers overseas? Was this what supporting allies meant for this small town? Surely, a thousand times, no, no and no! It couldn't end like this! It can never end like this!

"He always did so much for us…" the girl whispered, letting her tears flow.

"We can't give up on him," an employee said to them both. "He's in this not just for who he left behind, but for all of us back home. Renton's fighting this battle by himself, but if we want him to come home, we have to keep hoping…and keep praying."

"Renton always did say…" the boy slowly added, "…that if we want to win this fight…we have to keep our chins up."

"That's the way, Dominic!" the employee concurred, smiling. "He's depending on all of us now. We can't let him down."

The rhetoric, the tears, the speeches of hope and support, the words that Renton always said to her over and over, sunk deep into her mind and body as she downed the last bit of her root beer. Renton was never one to turn away from a challenge; surely he knew that searching for his friend in a warzone would not be easy. Yet he did it anyway. The commitment he had to the girl he lost over there was the same kind of commitment he needed from her, and everyone else who lived in this town. If they forgot about him, if they ever neglected the reasons for his choosing to go, then he would surely never return. Even in mind or spirit, there was strength in numbers.

Jane, rejuvenated and invigorated by the solemn and sincere words of those in that little diner, silently went out the door. She had to hurry home. She had to recover the letter. She had to read it, and write him back. She had to do her due diligence as a way of supporting him. He had to know that someone cared on this side of the ocean, that someone always thought of him, and always missed him dearly. He was, after all, her friend.

She didn't mind the rain, even as it pounded on her cloak, pushing it to the limits of how much it could protect her from the elements. She fought against the storm as it grew stronger, and ignored the thunderclap as one would sounds of crickets in the night. Nothing would stop her from opening the letter now, and learning what he needed from her now.

»»»»»

Her cloak was drenched through and through by the time she got back home. No matter. She could easily wring out the water and hang the cloak on a clothesline when the weather cleared. The only business that occupied her was learning the contents of that letter. She didn't' have to look long to find it.

The letter was right by the hearth, exactly where it landed after she threw it in frustration at the wall. It appeared to be undamaged, and she resolved it was going to stay that way. Carefully, she slid her finger into one open side of the envelope and peeled it open as one would a banana. One could never be too careful with official military letters like these. There might be some special form she had to read and sign in it, as well as his correspondence.

Slowly, she removed the letter from the envelope, and read it with a careful, discerning eye.

_15__th__ December, 1942_

_My Dear Jane,_

_Given how unpredictable the fighting is, I had to put this letter on express overnight shipment. It cost me a near fortune to do. I suppose it's just as well, since I don't have much need for money in a place like this. Ha ha. _

_I am alive, as I am sure you can guess. It's very harsh living out here, however, and from what I am told by my comrades, it's all too easy for a new recruit or an officer to meet his end before the week is out. The weather is very cold here, unsurprisingly. Even my brother's best winter coat and hat offer me threadbare protection from the below freezing temperatures found here. Still, I welcome it; it's certainly better than melting in the hot summer sun. We often have to make a fire ourselves, and when we do, it's sure to be crowded; everyone wants a little share of the warmth. _

_There is yet no word on my friend, but what I do know is that she is alive. Somewhere in this great pile of ash, rubble and wreckage, she's still here. She hasn't budged an inch from this place since the war started, or so I am told. However, I cannot see her. She is so close I can feel her, Jane. Yet it pains me to know that I cannot yet search for her, as the upper brass in this army have other plans for me._

_They call me the American Russian here, saying that I am a symbol of foreign support to the Soviet people. Ever since the war began, many Russians felt they were alone in facing the might of Hitler's war machine, as we still cannot commit to a second front in Europe to take the pressure off the Soviets. Some thought my country had all but abandoned them. My coming changed all of that apparently. I put up with the glory showering on me, as much as I don't want it. I didn't come because I wanted to help; I came because I had to help. _

_I have been given a field command of a small unit in the army, as indicated by my rank and unit designation on the envelope. Many of the men and women of my company are former friends I made here, if you can believe that. I can remember times when I laughed and played with them in the streets of this once fair city. Now I fight alongside them amidst the ruins, searching for a way to her. If only my CO would let me go to her. I want nothing more than this fighting to end, so I can sooner find her and return home. I fear, however, that locating her home may be impossible now as the damage wreaked on this city is horrendous. The skyline look more like jagged rocks near a canyon than actual buildings, and many of the paved streets have been tore up and buckled from the incessant shelling. Much of the city lies empty of civilian inhabitance, but we find the occasional diehard unwilling to leave his or her home. _

_My friend, I do believe that after seeing all the death, destruction, and misery brought on this city, I could easily kill the Germans in cold blood._

_Our daily hope is one of capitulation by the enemy, but they show no signs of surrender. They fight as if they have nothing left to live for. Sometimes I wonder if it would be any different than us lining up every living German here, and putting a bullet in his head. The result is the same. One by one, they fall, either from our guns, or from the sheer cold. It's a heart wrenching sight to even come across one of these pathetic men._

_But enough of gloom and death. How are things on your side of the Pacific? Is Bellforest different without me there? Are you holding up all right still? Please send me a message as soon as you possibly can. It's comforting to know that I have one person who still cares about what happens to me here._

_I have seen many men and women die, Jane. My greatest fear is the next bullet that whizzes through the air is intended for me, and I may never get to see you or the friend I left behind here. Pray for me. Pray that I have a chance to leave this life of combat soon. Pray for the soldiers who fight and die here. But above all, pray for this war to end. _

_I remain your own,_

_Renton Thurston_

_Captain, 1__st__ Company, 150__th__ Infantry Battalion_

She held the letter close to her heart, and could never let go of it. He was alive, and her prayers had not been in vain. But now she had a task to set to, and she would do it because of her obligation to him as a friend. He depended on her now, and she was determined to show her commitment to him as well. Renton may be scoffed at, looked down upon, and slandered in the eyes of people like Alice, but there were just as many people, if not more, who deeply cared about what he did over there, and whose greatest wish was that he would come back safely. It was with that thought in mind that she set pen to paper, and wrote on into the night, covering page after page with words that she poured her heart and soul into. He needed these letters far more than she ever did. She closed the letter with a simple yet telling message.

_Please hurry home, Renton. Every day that passes is another day of grief and uncertainty for not just me, but everyone here._

* * *

**Author's Note: The next chapter will be the last Stalingrad combat chapter, but it's an important one, which you will see why. Thanks for all the views as I appreciate that people still enjoy reading stories I wrote a long time ago, and I hope you will enjoy what comes next.**


	9. Chapter 9

******Author's Note: Well this is it. The last combat chapter. ****It won't be the last bit of fighting Renton will see before leaving Russia, but this particular sequence of combat is very important with regards to Renton's development. The reason why, I am sure you will guess when you do read this. **I had to do some major editing and truncating to make it fit, but I think I've done that enough to get the point across. If you read it, you will see why I felt the need to include one more.

* * *

**Chapter Nine**

_8__th__ September, 1942_

_My Dearest Eureka,_

_Normally I wouldn't send a message out on express mail, given how much it costs, but given recent events, I have to make sure this gets to you before something terrible happens. A few days ago I heard about Stalingrad coming under attack by the German 6__th__ Army, and how the Soviet forces are so desperate to hang on to your home. I've made my decision, Eurekasha, and it's not one I plan to have second thoughts on._

_I'm returning to Russia._

_Each day since I left you four years ago, I have felt lost and downcast. There has not been a single day that has passed these four years when I haven't thought of you. I feel like I failed you, Eureka. I failed in keeping my promise for so long. I have never been there to console you when it mattered. For so long, I have wanted to see you, and know what I can do to help you in your situation, which has worsened every day we have exchanged letters. I must come now, to fulfill my promise._

_Everyone has told me this is a fool's errand. All have said I am only setting myself up for certain misfortune. I suspect when I break the news to my friends, they shall all oppose me as well. But my mind is made up, and nothing will convince me otherwise. I will take the next available ship to Vladivostok and find my way to you. I have to come, simply because I have done nothing for too long. I can't wait anymore in the hope that something will change the course of this war for the better, a hope that seems to die again and again with every bit of news I get. There don't seem to be any more options open to me. _

_Brother is against me going. I argued with him just yesterday about this whole matter. He said I needed to forget about Russia, that I had to be sensible. He went so far as to suggest that you and all who are left in Stalingrad were already dead. That was when I lost my temper with him, and told him how if I was to forget Russia, I would also have to forget you, and the days I spent with you and your family. What kind of person would I be to turn my back on you, after everything we have shared? He went on about how any mature person would not dwell on what happened when he or she was a child, but move on. Over and over, I said to him no. He would not sway me, nor will anyone else who fights me on this. _

_Each day since first hearing about your home, has made me feel like I have no choice. Father has been gone for almost a year. Brother never comes home at night. Mother isn't here anymore. I am alone, and my only joy is you and your letters. I have to find you. I have to know if you are still alive. I have to know that you haven't forgotten me. I certainly haven't forgotten you after all these years._

_I put my departure to Russia sometime in late November. I have no other indicator to give at this time than that. From Vladivostok I will take the train. If that is not available, I will take a truck. And if that is not available, I will take a horse. No matter what I must do, I promise I will reach you, and I __will__ find you again. _

_Eurekasha, what I need from you right now is a message telling me that you are still alive. Tell me that you still remember me after all this time. Tell me that you will wait for me. Tell me that I am doing the right thing, like I tell myself so many times each day. _

_Please, __please__ answer. Answer soon, so I know that my journey to Russia will not be in vain._

_I'm coming, my Eureka._

_I remain forever your own,_

_Renton_

»»»»»

**December 17****th****, 1942**

**Stalingrad, USSR**

The attack on Natasha, Petya, and Renton as they were returning to their company proved one thing quickly: the Germans still controlled several apartment buildings along the street where Renton and his company were. They were so close the men and women could hear them talking to each other; they didn't know Renton and the others were there. This morning they had to retake all the buildings the Germans occupied on the street and then advance on the ammunition depot. A tall order, but all were ready to do it. Renton quickly briefed the company on what had to happen today…

"All right, listen up: the Germans still have control of several apartments along this street. Our duty is to take back each of these buildings one by one and then destroy the German ammunition depot near the department store. Let's go!"

They all ran out of the apartment and immediately heard fire to their right. They looked to see a small group from Second Company held down in a blown apartment building.

"Our comrades are pinned down up there!" Petya called. "We must assist them!"

First Company ran forward and took cover behind piles of rubble and debris and old cars in the street. Renton advanced, his PPSh-41 in hand, spraying 12 rounds into a German who came up a mound of snow and rubble, trying to get some fire on the line. He ran forward and got on the flank of a line of twoGermans, cutting them down with another spray of his PPSh-41 and then ran into an apartment whose walls had been blown clean off. He saw machine gun fire coming from the third floor of that apartment so he quickly ran up the stairs, killing some soldiers who tried to stop him, and then ran up to the third floor balcony where an MG42 was placed. He heard the voice of Ken-Goh shout from down below,

"Panzer tank! Cover! TAKE COVER!"

He went out to the balcony and found that Natasha had taken out the machine gun crew with her superb sniping skills. He then looked down and saw a Panzer III tank approaching from the west, coming up on their lines with its main gun blazing and machine gun firing. As he ran down the stairs Petrov looked up to the apartment building on the left opposite Renton and saw that many from the Second Company was annihilated.

"Those men are all dead!" Petrov screamed, scared for his life. "This is a suicide mission! We'll be next!"

"Keep it together, Petrov!" Renton ordered. He then turned to Anatole, holding an MP40 he got off a dead German. "Anatole, our comrades might have left an AT weapon with them! Go find out! We'll cover you! MOVE!"

"Why do _I_ have to do it?!" Anatole protested.

"Because you're dependable."

"Goddammit, I HATE being dependable!"

Anatole ran across the street to the other apartment and quickly searched the building. He soon found some sticky bombs on a shelf near the doorway to the bathroom. He stuck his head out the window and gave the thumbs up to Renton, showing him a sticky bomb.

"Nicely done, Anatole! Now plant the explosives on that tank!"

Anatole sprinted to the tank and as the tank started to back away, Anatole quickly planted explosives on the tank's engine, ensuring it would be blown to kingdom come. Sure enough, the tank exploded into a heap of twisted metal as a squad of Germans rushed their position, but a quick fire and a lob of an RGD-33 grenade on Anatole's part quickly eliminated the threat. Renton ran into the apartment and yelled,

"These buildings are back in Russian hands, men! Head for that office building and take it back! KEEP MOVING!"

The First Company followed Renton through the building and they could soon see a grey office building on the other side of the street. It seemed heavily occupied by Germans but that proved to be no deterrent for the men and women of First Company. Ken-Goh's platoon set up a base of fire from the windows of the apartment they were in as Renton, Petya and Anatole ran across the street to clear the building. Petya ran to a large hole in the wall on the other side of the building to enter from the left.

As a German ran out carrying an MG42 through the main doorway, Renton and Anatole fired 10 combined rounds into the German, flashes of red spattering on their clothes and faces. Petya quickly shot a German leaning out of a corner as he entered the hole in the wall with his Mosin-Nagant and stabbed another that came at him with his bayonet. As they approached the stairs on the right side of the building, three Germans on the second floor threw down three grenades. Petya and Anatole ran away and Renton ran after them but then...

BOOM!

He felt something pierce him near his right temple, and for a moment every part of his body went numb. Renton fell, his right hand pressing hard on the right side of his head to try and contain the flow of warm blood he felt from his wound. Petya and Anatole yelled out, loud enough for everyone in the building across the way to hear,

"Renton!"

They ran to him, down on the ground his gloved hand caked in warm red blood. He did not cry from his wound, but writhed on the ground, as if quietly accepting the fate he felt was upon him. Anatole and Petya had seen far worse, however, in only one and half years of war.

"Move your hand, Renton; let's see it," Anatole said.

Renton slowly moved his hand and showed a wound in right side of his head near his temple. A grenade shard had broken the skin and lodged itself close to his temple. It was a lucky wound. If it had struck his temple he would have been dead in an instant. He would live. It could easily be removed after the battle was over.

"You got lucky, Renton," Anatole said smiling assuredly. "It was one shard. Any closer to the temple and you would have been deader than four o'clock in the morning."

"I'm… not going to die?" Renton said, slightly relieved.

"Nyet, my friend," Petya laughed. "It'll get patched up easy."

Renton's body sank into the ground. He lay there a moment, motionless.

Then he stood up on his feet uneasily, leaning on his Mosin-Nagant rifle like a crutch. Blood started to run down the side of his face, reaching his right eye and clouding its vision with an ocean of crimson. Renton pulled off his grey scarf and handed it to them.

"Tie this around my head…tight. Hurry up; the blood's getting in my eye."

Petya and Anatole quickly tied the scarf around his head in a bandana-like fashion, pulling it tight on the end so it could contain the bleeding. Renton placed a new five-round-clip into the chamber of his Mosin-Nagant.

"Good. Now let's go and get these bastards."

They quickly ran up the stairs and assaulted the Germans they encountered up there. Renton bashed the German in the chest with the butt of his rifle, and then hit him across the head with it, knocking him down. He raised his bayoneted rifle up and as the German was pleading and screaming. He felt not one ounce of mercy for his enemy. Only hate to kill the enemy that had caused them so much pain.

They ran to the windows and gave the "all-clear" signal to the rest of the company, which soon moved forward into the building and onto the street on the other side.

"Advance!" Renton called. The company moved forward down the road, towards the German ammunition depot, with Renton in the lead. They carried on for a few hundred meters when Petya called out, "MACHINE GUN! MG42! EVERYONE GET DOWN!"

He spoke too soon; immediately he went down with five machine gun bullets. He hit the ground and rolled over on his back, crying in searing pain. The whole company scattered. Renton followed Ken-Goh and his men behind a broken wall. There was no clear idea of what to do. They had to make a move quick or they would be pinned down.

"Ken-Goh, I want you and your platoon to put suppressing fire on that MG42 while I go bring Petya back!"

"That's suicide, Renton! You'll be killed for sure!"

"We are NOT leaving him here! Now give some suppressing fire! That's an order!"

Ken-Goh had no choice but to obey his commander's orders. He called to his men for suppressing fire and soon his whole platoon was firing at the MG42. The other soldiers of the company followed suit and all the soldiers were firing. Renton ran out to Petya, who was in the middle of the road, screaming his lungs hoarse. He was soon beside Petya, with bullets flying and whizzing all about him. He could see he was badly wounded, bleeding profusely from the shoulders and the stomach. He had to get him out of here and back to the aid station.

"AAAAHHHHH!" Petya screamed.

"You gotta be quiet!" Renton screamed back amidst the noise and chaos.

"It hurts…it hurts so bad!"

Renton started to lift him up.

"What're you doing?!"

"I'm going to take you back!"

He lifted him up and placed him on his back, slowly trudging back to the broken wall, all the while listening Petya's gut-wrenching screams. He finally reached the wall and set him down on the ground, sheltered from further fire.

"Renton," Ken-Goh said amidst the noise, "I'm going to cite you in the report tomorrow, and get you nominated for the Red Star. That was the most courageous thing I've ever seen."

"Save it, Ken-Goh! We'll talk later! Somebody toss a grenade, quick!" Renton called to his men.

Ken-Goh immediately pulled out a grenade and threw it at the machine gun, yelling, "Open up and say 'ah', you fascist bastards!"

The grenade detonated, killing the three Germans behind the sandbags and the MG42 was silenced.

"Good work, men!" Renton called. "Let's move up!"

The company arose from their hiding places and advanced down the road, towards the ammunition depot. Renton and Natasha first went to check to make sure Petya was going to be all right.

"Petya, my darling," Natasha said anxiously, "are you all right?" Petya grasped her hand tightly as he picked up his Mosin-Nagant rifle and stood up strong and firm, as if nothing had happened.

"Da…I can still fight. Renton, thank you for getting me out of the crossfire like that. You saved my life."

"There's no way I'm letting a friend of mine die on me," Renton said.

Petya smiled. He was the same friend he remembered him to be when they first met. That was one thing that had not changed in four years.

"You're a true friend, Renton."

"Thanks. Now let's get going."

They soon reached an apartment it, the ammunition depot just one street over directly across from the apartment. Without even a word from Renton, the whole First Company charged through the building and quickly killed the straggling Germans already in there. Renton, Petrov and Anatole rushed to the second floor and found two MG42s with ammunition in the window. The platoon commanders soon came into the room and Renton addressed them quickly.

"Listen carefully! I and Anatole will provide a base of fire from the windows using the MGs. The rest of you advance and take that ammunition depot! I don't care what you have to do; just take the depot!"

"Da, tovarish Kapitan1!"

They all ran down the stairs as Renton turned to Petrov.

"Petrov, our comrades are going to try and take the depot. I need you to fire on the German positions so they can move up and get inside. Understand?"

"Yes, sir!"

"All right, pick an MG. Anatole, set up your machine gun."

"Right away sir!" Anatole said as he quickly mounted his DP machine gun in the window.

They waited for a few moments and then heard the officer's whistles and the troops began their attack. Renton, Petrov and Anatole all opened fire with their machine guns on the German positions surrounding the ammunition depot. Sakharova's platoon came from the right and Anatole quickly took down a group of Germans near an old office building, firing through the windows. Ken-Goh's platoon came straight up the middle through the foundation of a former apartment, now just a collection of makeshift walls, so Renton and Petrov covered that sector, all the while both were encouraging each other and shouting obscenities to the Germans.

"KEEP THE PRESSURE ON THE GERMANS SO OUR MEN CAN MOVE UP TO THE DEPOT!" Renton called amidst the gunfire, his voice hoarse from the smoke and shouting.

"This one is for Anya!" Petrov screamed as he fired off another set of rounds at the German positions, his hatred for the enemy overflowing with every shot. "And this one is for Mother!"

"Don't stop firing! They must reach the depot!"

"This one is for my father, you fascist pig!"

"Petrov! Suppress the Germans in the building on the left side of the road!" Petrov shifted his fire towards the left, still cursing and shouting.

"This one is for my little sister, you murderers!"

"The building on the left, Petrov! Shoot through the windows!"

"How do you like it, fascist devils?!"

"COMRADE CAPTAIN, LOOK OUT!"

He pushed Renton down to the ground just as a sniper fired. Renton's life was spared, but Petrov, the eager new recruit, barely 18, received a clean bullet through the temple, killing him instantly. He had a calm expression on his face, as if he had done his duty in his death. Renton sat there in shock for a moment as Anatole swiveled the machine gun to the left and fired on the sniper, killing him. Renton slowly got up, and manned the machine gun as the First Company pushed closer and closer to capturing the depot.

He fired through the windows, now he himself cursing and making his own dedications to his loved ones.

"This one's for Father!"

He killed another small group of Germans streaming from the right seemingly coming from an old ruined foundation of an apartment building, all of them hitting the cold snow in quick succession, turning the white snow ground red.

"This one is for Sonia!"

He shot down the remaining soldiers in the windows taking aim at him and Anatole before they could even get a shot off.

"This one's for Petrov, you fascist scum!"

A transport truck soon pulled up carrying a German squad, all quickly debarking from the vehicle and engaging the First Company, trying desperately to slow their quick advance down. Renton and Anatole soon cut them all down like the new wheat ready for harvest.

"And this one is for Eureka Koslova!"

Renton finally turned the MG42, on its last several rounds, at the Germans taking cover in the ammunition depot, cutting them all down quick and seeing the sight of the whole company rushing into the ammunition depot amidst cheers and shouts.

"Za rodinu! Vperyod za Stalina!2"

"Kill the fascists! Show them no mercy!"

Soon Renton and Anatole saw explosions from the depot, meaning the ammunition and weapons caches had been destroyed, denying the enemy weaponry with which to fight on. Now they heard the rumbling of a tank and took the opportunity to run down the stairs and out the door to the street, finding a light tank approaching from the northeast. Anatole wasted no time in placing the sticky bombs on the track and engine while the tank was sitting there. He lit the fuses and set the explosives and as soon as he got back to Renton, the tank exploded into a ball of flames.

Renton and Anatole then ran into the depot and found all the platoon commanders waiting for him and further orders.

"What do we do now, Captain?" Ken-Goh asked.

"Their counterattack is imminent. We cannot let the Germans take this position back! Everyone take up defensive positions at the windows on the other side! MOVE!"

The platoon commanders quickly dispersed as Renton took a position at a vacant window and aimed his Mosin-Nagant off into the distance, awaiting the German attack he knew would come. Blood caked on the right side of his face, stained in his right eye, a large red blotch in the grey scarf he now wore around his head like a turban. His ears were bombarded with the words of encouragement for one last effort.

"Comrade Stalin has given us his orders: Not another step backwards!"

"Prepare for the counterattack comrades! No retreat!"

"For Mother Russia, comrades! Don't turn your back on her!"

"For Comrade Stalin and your glorious Motherland! Get ready!"

The feelings among the soldiers were all the same: tension. Expectation. Each wondered if they would even return from this fight and see their loved ones again at the end of this long bloody struggle. What was it all for? To prove one political theory was better than the other? To show how wrong one German was? Was it just part of the never-ending struggle for power that had continued since time in memoriam? Behind the fall of one empire, another would eventually rise. Behind the fall of one dictator, another would take his place. Who was to blame?

But one person did not hearken to the thoughts of loved ones awaiting them at war's end. In the mind of one American among his Russian brethren, hatred had found its haven in the darkest crevice of his mind and body. Hatred for the enemy that had caused all this. No, it wasn't his fault that all this had happened.

"They're coming, sir!"

Renton looked and saw almost a whole company of German soldiers coming straight at them. All intent on taking back this position, led by a murderous dictator who only sought power over all that was visible. They came closer until they were within about 500 meters and Renton knew it would not do to wait another second.

"OGON3!"

They all opened fire at once, knocking down the entire front line of Germans. As some struggled to even fire off their first shot, nervous and jittery of what might happen in the next split second, Renton calmly fired his Mosin-Nagant at each soldier in his vision, hitting them in the head, in the belly, in the heart. He shed a tear and his eyes narrowed in a scowl that grew deeper into his brow with every life he took. He hated them all, hated tyrants, hated injustice everywhere and in all forms. The tears were of loss and helplessness. He had not been able to go to Eureka while her city was a battlefield. He had not been able to comfort her. How he wished he could console her during these perilous times.

"Keep firing! They're taking heavy losses! Soon they'll all be on their heels!"

Renton looked and saw that the Germans had suffered many casualties in this one push to the depot. More than half of their force was down. It couldn't be possible! He looked at his watch and saw that a mere three minutes had passed from the start of the attack. How was it that war had changed to this efficient form of slaughter? How was it that war had come to Eureka's country? What had Russia done to earn Germany's hatred?

"They're falling back!"

"The Germans are giving up the fight!"

Without even realizing what he was doing, Renton blew his officer's whistle, giving the signal to move forward in a charge. Why was he offering himself up to an inviting shot? Why was he choosing to be the sacrificial lamb?

"PUSH THEM BACK! MAKE THEM PAY FOR INVADING! CHARGE!"

Renton, with a bloodied head and eye, a grey scarf still tightly wrapped around his head, and a Mosin-Nagant rifle with a bloody bayonet in hand, ran out of the building after the retreating Germans. The company all soon followed suit and charged out against the Germans, screaming and yelling.

"ZA RODINU!"

"ZA STALINA!"

"UURRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAA!"

Two Germans in front of Renton turned and fired their submachine guns at him, trying to slow this attack down in any way possible. Renton seemed now to be lost in his emotions. It was their fault! If it had not been for the Germans…!

"DAMN IT!"

He slashed one German with his bayonet, quickly stabbing the other through his heart. He turned and saw another with a Kar98k, fumbling with the bolt trying to reload. Without hesitation, he rushed straight at him, screaming like a madman.

He struck with his bayonet; the German died. He saw there was one last German standing with his MP40 at his side, hesitating and scared to death, ready to retreat. He heard the call of Petya and Natasha, telling him the fight was over and the Germans had been thrown back. It was safe to go back to headquarters now.

He never wanted this war to happen. His country had been dragged unwillingly into it, forced to be a participant. Here he stood, in a foreign land he considered his second home, fighting an enemy he never knew, for a cause he didn't understand. His only motive was the hatred he felt for all the untold suffering Germany's war had caused.

"Damn it…"

He charged recklessly against the German who fired nervously, always missing him whenever he took a shot. Renton hurled his rifle at him like a javelin. He fell onto the rifle as Renton kicked him into a wall, his face contorted. Petya and Natasha were now pleading with Renton to stop his killing spree.

"DIE, FASCIST!"

"Renton! That's enough! We have to get back to headquarters! Renton! Answer us! Renton! Renton!"

Renton unlatched his bayonet from the rifle and prepared to stab the German again, cursing loudly over and over.

"Renton, it's enough; you need to calm down! The Germans have retreated! IT'S OVER!"

He looked up to the sky and saw small snowflakes falling. He saw only the dark grey clouds hiding away the blue sky. The world seemed filled with hatred. Was there something that awaited them all somewhere in that eternal sky? Did God look down on the folly of his creation? Renton looked at his blood covered hands. A broken window of an office building allowed him to stare at the reflection. There was a boy of sixteen, blood trickling down right side of his head and in his eye. Who was that person?

Renton's voice rose in a terrible ear-piercing cry as he threw punches at the dead German, venting out his rage. His tears were mixed with shame. He never wanted this. It was these Germans barring him from seeing Eureka! It was their fault this was happening!

"THIS IS YOUR FAULT! EUREKA IS SUFFERING ALL BECAUSE OF YOU! IT'S YOUR FAULT!"

Natasha and Petya came to him. He seemed to be on the edge of his sanity, shedding tears of as Anatole looked to Ken-Goh with a concerned look on his face.

"What the hell's going on? What's wrong with him?"

Ken-Goh shook his head with a familiar look on his face. He had seen this all too many times before on the front lines. New recruits cracking under pressure, venting their rage at the enemy. Often they lost their lives as a result.

"I think this is getting to be too much for him."

Petya and Natasha tried to wrench him away from the German and restrain him from inflicting further unnecessary damage on the already dead enemy.

They held him like a frightened child by his shoulders. Both looked into his eyes but did not say anything to him; neither had the words to express what they had just seen their best friend do. Renton said nothing either; he seemed lost. He looked up, the sounds of the mortal, temporal world fading. The only thing he could hear was the steady thumping of his heart. The fear and anger that had been in his eyes dissipated like smoke, replaced by the emptiness he felt in his heart. He stood there with a blank, hollow stare, gazing into the sky.

Everything went black.

»»»»»

His green eyes slowly opened to find a black ceiling. He darted his eyes around, finding himself on a makeshift bed back in the apartment building that served as their barracks. The first thing that crashed through his thoughts with the power of a freight train was that they had returned!

He jumped off the bed and grabbed the nearest weapon, a TT-33 pistol. He called out.

"What's happened? Get to the walls! Quick, they'll be back any minute!"

He felt the restraining hands of someone on his shoulders. He turned ready to strike, but stopped himself. It was Natasha Badanova, her dark eyes concerned for the friend that stood before her, had witnessed his lapse of sanity out in the field.

"Natasha, what's wrong? What's happened? Was there another counterattack?! Did we hold the depot?"

"It's still in our hands. But that's not what we're concerned about."

"What's ..what do you mean?"

"Renton… what happened out there was…I mean…"

"You were bashing at a dead German," said Petya, who emerged from the darkness of the room behind Natasha. His eyes too seemed to reflect the concern for his friend.

Renton said nothing. He blinked at them, wondering what they were talking about. They, his best friends were questioning his ability to lead them? After he had led them on so many successful missions, and now they were starting to question him?

"So I guess you all think I am …"

"Not crazy," Natasha corrected him. "We just think you were overcome with the emotions of combat."

Renton looked at her solemnly, hiding away the secret truth.

"U menya kharasho! Pravda!"

"Do you mean that?" Petya asked intently, smoothing out his hair. "Is the fighting getting to you?"

"I'm telling you all I'm fine!" Renton insisted, feeling thoroughly offended, however. "Why are you even asking this of me? Don't you think I can still lead? After everything we have been through together…"

He turned away in apprehension, as if ashamed to even look his own friends in the face.

"Your ability to lead us may be in question, Renton. But we think what happened out there is showing that this is getting to be too much for you. You need rest. We have started talking with Vladimir about letting you go. You can go find Eureka."

"I'll leave when Vladimir says I can," he said firmly, without an ounce of hesitation in his voice.

"Renton…"

"I came here to help all of you, and if that means fighting…"

"Renton…you need to stop." Natasha pressed.

She wanted to make sure he would be all right. She did not want to see him turn out the way many young raw recruits already did. Too many were listed as casualties of the war. Renton turned to her and looked at them both, his dearest friends, in this land he called a second home. If he was to keep fighting, he needed their support. Not just in the battles to come…

"Renton, we are here to support you," Petya said, as if he had asked a question whose answer was obvious. "But do you feel this is becoming too much for you?"

Renton shook his head no.

"Spasibo, vsye."

Petya was reminded of something. He reached something out of his uniform pocket. Renton looked intently at what was in his hand.

It was metallic, painted crimson red in the shape of a five-fingered star. In the center of the star there sat the image of a man carrying a rifle, marching off towards an unseen enemy. Below the man were the letters CCCP4 and around him hung that old communist motto: "Workers of the World, Unite!" like a Christmas wreath hanging on a door. At the bottom of the star between the joining of the two lower fingers was the yellow hammer and sickle.

"What is this?" Renton asked, rather surprised.

"The Order of the Red Star," Petya said, smiling. "For getting me out of the crossfire today."

"I didn't think they gave this to foreigners."

"Vladimir made an exception, and pulled some strings. We all think you deserve it."

Renton looked down again at the medal, reminding him of what had transpired that day. He pinned the medal on his dark greatcoat.

"Looks good on you, Renton."

"Thank you for it."

"We always had faith in you, Renton. We knew that one day you would come back."

"Thank you all. Thank you."

Renton smiled and his heart soared as he returned to his bunk. As they all slept, reveling in today's victory against the fascist invaders, Renton felt he was one step closer to seeing the girl who had occupied his mind long before this great adventure for him began.

_Wait for me Eureka …I'm coming._

»»»»»

_11__th__ September, 1942_

_My Dear Renton,_

_By some miracle, I am still alive. I am still here where you left me. Hopefully, I will continue to be here until the day you return._

_The city is in ruin now. All of my friends have gone, and there are few civilians left. A young soldier, no older than you or I, came to my door only yesterday saying we had to leave. There was a citywide evacuation order, and that all civilians were to be moved to refugee camps across the river. My brothers and I refused to leave. They don't want Father to return to an empty flat. But I don't want to leave because I don't want you to arrive here and not find me. We'll stay here to the end. _

_It is a harrowing experience to even go fetch rations for the month. The fighting is so close I can hear it from blocks away. Once we used to play in the streets, and laugh and dance in the playground. No more. The only ones we see are soldiers rushing to the front, struggling to hold the Germans back. The situation is dire; the Germans have powerful tanks that frequently outclass what we manage to put on the field, and their airplanes regularly bomb everywhere until there is nothing left. The flat is just barely standing._

_I still remember you. I still miss you. I still want to see you._

_The electricity, heat, and water are still going, but I fear as the battle drags on, all those may soon disappear. I don't want to die like this. I don't want to live as a victim in my own home. I can't bear it._

_Come as quickly as you can. I need you now more than ever. I'll wait for as long as I have to._

_Please hurry, Rentoshka._

_Your friend for life,_

_Eureka_

1 Yes, comrade Captain!

2 For the motherland! Forward for Stalin!

3 Russian for fire.

4 Russian abbreviation of the Soviet Union. (In Russian: _Soyuz __Sovetskikh Sotsialisticheskikh Respublik_)

* * *

**Author's Note:**** I hope you enjoyed the last chapter and understand the reason I had to include it. Expect Eureka's introduction and a cameo by a historical figure come next entry. Many thanks to everyone who has supported me and sent me their thoughts so far. Please keep them coming as it greatly helps me improve this.**


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

**December 19****th****, 1942**

**A field hospital near the Stalingrad docks, USSR**

"There she is," said the doctor as she pulled out a small cylindrical piece of metal from Renton's skin with a pair of forceps.

Renton winced slightly as he felt the bullet be removed from his right calf. The pain that accompanied that soon dissipated, however, and was replaced by relief that the damned thing had been extricated from his body. There followed a small clink as the bullet was placed in a metallic pan. The doctor, a woman of 26 with short brown hair in bangs and grass green eyes showed him the cause of his wound in the pan.

It was a tiny little thing, small and thin and shining like a star in the bright wintry night sky. There was the evidence of blood from his body on the bullet that made a gloomy and macabre polish on the agent of death.

"You're lucky it didn't hit the bone, or else it would have been a lot worse," the doctor said chuckling.

"I would not have liked that," Renton chuckled as he tried to sit up uneasily.

"Don't move so fast!" the doctor urged him as she gently pushed him back onto the cot he was laying on. "We're not done yet!"

"What's more to be done?"

"I have to make sure your wound doesn't get infected. So stay still, young man."

"Yes, ma'am."

Renton lay on his stomach and let the doctor do her work. He was wearing his traditional winter outfit: his brother's old black coat and grey insulated pants tucked into spiked boots. The right pant leg had been rolled up a little to show the wound to the doctor: a small puncture in the right calf.

He felt a sharp stinging sensation as he looked back and saw the doctor applying a small cotton ball to his wound.

"What is that?" he asked, wincing.

"Iodine, so you don't get an infection. No bacteria survive against iodine."

"Oh…ow…that makes sense…"

"You're very lucky to get out of that fight with just one wound to your leg," the doctor said, as she padded the area with the iodine-soaked cotton ball. "Some men were not too fortunate."

"I just hope God can give me good fortune for the rest of my stay here. I'm going to need it."

At that the doctor laughed as she wrapped a tourniquet around his wound.

"You are lucky enough to have survived five minutes in Stalingrad let alone five days. I swear sometimes the new soldiers coming in are dead within a few hours of arriving. The officers never even last a whole day."

"I'm sorry."

"It's nothing for you to worry about," the doctor said kindly as she tied the tourniquet tight. "That's for the men upstairs to worry about."

"Indeed it is," said a familiar calm and caring voice.

Renton looked to his left and saw his old friend and commanding officer, Vladimir. He came in, dressed in his officer's uniform with a line of medals pinned to his chest. He had a caring smile on his face and an almost angelic glow in his grayish-blue eyes, but he looked tired and worn, as if he received new orders that heralded the doom of all under his command. But he maintained his smile and his calm composed expression in his face. He had the face that anyone could trust and the voice had the tone of always being ready to help anyone at a moment's notice, even if it was a complete stranger he had met on the street a mere five minutes beforehand.

"Vladimir, is something wrong? Do we have new orders?" Renton asked worriedly.

To his surprise, Vladimir laughed. It wasn't a laugh of derision as if someone just uttered an ignorant phrase that made the lunatics in the asylum ten times brighter, but rather a laugh one made when a child had said something one knew was wrong, but was still endearing anyway, because the child didn't know what he was saying.

"No new orders, Renton. But there is someone I want you to meet. He has something he wants to give you."

"Who is it?" Renton asked curiously.

He secretly wasn't in the mood for meeting someone, except if that someone was Eureka. She was the only person he wanted to see right now.

"Someone very important. Doctor, can he walk?"

"He should be able to, as long as he doesn't push himself," the doctor said confidently as she washed her hands in a sink.

"Excellent. Renton, if you will kindly follow me."

Renton stood up uneasily on his feet and felt a slight pain in his calf as his foot pressed on the floor.

"Whatever you do," the doctor said to him with a motherly grin, "don't lean on that leg!"

"I'll remember that…"

Renton limped over to Vladimir who then lent him a shoulder to lean on as they walked together out of the field hospital and down a long corridor. Renton looked up to Vladimir, seeing the tousled reddish-brown hair matted and uncombed underneath his officer's cap, and being caught by his grayish blue eyes like the sand mixed with the ocean waves lapping on the shore. There were still specks of dirt on his face that he never managed to get off because he did not have the time to do so. Renton could not help but feel that this would be the last time he would look into his caring brotherly face, and hear his helpful voice that anyone would love. He had been a good friend in his first days in Stalingrad, and was, like the rest of the Novikovs, a welcoming family member, a brother in all but name and blood. He had now grown up, and so had the world, but the world had grown up into a dangerous, treacherous and hate filled place. Vladimir was not the 15-year-old carefree and optimistic older brother he was when he first met him; he had grown older than his 19 years with a great deal of responsibility on his shoulders. He was not a boy anymore. He had become a man.

Renton hardly looked the heroic figure others made him out to be. His oak brown hair hung around his face and in his green eyes uncombed, and unwashed after five days of nothing but fighting. He had a scar near his right temple from the grenade fragment that hit him there, along with a scar across his cheek from a bullet wound received from fleeing Germans. He also had a medal pinned to his coated chest: the Order of the Red Star, which he received for retrieving Petya when he was wounded under fire. The medal however meant little to him now, as the only objective he had now remained to be completed: seeing Eureka again. If he could see her and her family once more, once more after four years of separation, then this journey away from the comforts and safety of his home would not have been in vain.

"Say, Volodya1?"

"Da, Rentoshka?"

"How is the search for a replacement captain coming along?"

Vladimir laughed, smiling wistfully wishing he could tell Renton good news. No one wanted the job of commander of First Company after three different men occupied the position and were killed since the unit's formation in June of last year. Many thought it was a jinxed position that ought never to be taken so whenever the position was offered, no one would take it.

"Not going too well. There doesn't seem to be anyone who is willing to take the job."

Renton's spirits sank further, fearing he might be doomed to occupy this position for the rest of the battle, possibly the war. He didn't want to fight anymore, not after the horrors he had seen in five days.

"That's too bad. I guess that means I'm going to be in this position for a little while longer?"

"Not by any means, Renton," Vladimir rebutted vehemently. "Everyone has been fighting with me to get you out of this position and find a replacement now."

"What do you mean?"

"They think you have done your part, and more. You have helped us all more than we can ever say in words, but we all think it's time you went to who you really came for."

Now it seemed like it finally would stop. Ken-Goh, Petya and the others had all been lobbying on his behalf to let him go to whom he really came for. Vladimir knew very well couldn't keep Renton fighting forever; the stress was getting to be too much for him to bear. Much of the company began to show concern when Renton lost his head yesterday, stabbing that German repeatedly cursing over and over until finally he collapsed in the snow. All agreed it was time for Renton to go to what he really came for: Eureka.

"Quite frankly, Volodya," Renton said, "I _would_ like to go. There is nothing more I want than to see her again, but if I have to fight one last day to find her, then I…"

"Don't talk anymore, Renton," Vladimir said looking concerned for his friend. "Don't think about fighting anymore. You don't have to worry about that now."

Renton only looked silently to him and saw Vladimir's small and brotherly smile looking down at him and his grayish blue eyes shine with the light of God's redemption and forgiveness that shone down upon all who were willing to be forgiven. Renton felt no regret or sorrow or shame in asking Vladimir this right for him to see the one he truly came for. Vladimir knew he was a man of pure conscience, as Renton knew Vladimir had become a man who could be readily trusted.

They reached the door and Vladimir rapped on the frame three times. A few moments of silence followed before a voice from inside called, "Come in."

Vladimir opened the door and took a few steps in. They were promptly greeted by a tall and somewhat portly clean-shaven man in his early 40s. He wore a dark khaki uniform with blue riding pants tucked into tall black boots, and had medals lining both sides of his chest. Two stars on gold shoulder straps denoted his rank, which was yet to be known to Renton but was known to Vladimir. His face was worn and scarred like Jerusalem's walls, his brow like a mountain crag, his dark brown hair tousled and unkempt like a tornado had torn a path and wreaked havoc on his head, and his eyes were dark and brooding having seen many years of war and the horrors that came with it. He greeted Vladimir first and offered him his hand which he gladly took.

"Good for you to come, comrade Major."

"I brought him for you, sir."

The man turned his eyes to Renton, who looked to him quizzically and unknowing of just who he was looking at. It seemed strange that this man whom he had never heard or seen was greeting Vladimir in such a cordial and familiar manner.

"Renton," Vladimir said, turning to his friend with a smile, "I'd like you to meet Lieutenant General Vasili Ivanovich Chuikov, commander of the Soviet forces fighting in Stalingrad."

At the mention of his title, Renton automatically stood as firmly as he could on his feet and greeted the man with a sharp salute, afraid he may have offended him by not giving him the proper greeting that was deserving of a general.

"Sir! Forgive me; I did not realize that—"

"Don't worry about it, my boy," said the man, Chuikov, in a gruff masculine voice. "We can skip the formalities when we are in here." He then turned to Vladimir and said softly, "You may leave us, comrade Major."

With that, Vladimir left the room to wait outside as Chuikov took Renton by the shoulder and walked with him further into the room, where a table with a large sheet of paper with drawings and a red and black box awaited them.

"So you are the boy everyone tells me about," Chuikov said laughing quietly.

Renton looked to him confusedly. He didn't think that his actions here could gain such notoriety, considering that he didn't originally come to fight, but to find Eureka.

"Sir?"

"Your actions here have become legendary," Chuikov explained. "They call you the 'American Russian' after all your exploits here. You have provided a tremendous morale boost to our men."

"I didn't think that I could be that widely known."

Chuikov chuckled and held up the sheet of paper on the table for Renton to see, revealing it to be a propaganda poster, as if it was the Ten Commandments brought by Moses down from Mount Sinai. It showed Renton standing beside a Soviet soldier hand in hand. Behind the two figures stood the flags of their respective countries, fluttering in the wind. Under the two men there read the captions, spoken by Renton,

_I stand with you. Where do you stand?_

"That is how important you are to us," Chuikov said, putting down the poster to explain further. "We may have surrounded the Germans earlier this month, but my troops have been severely bludgeoned since this battle began in September. It was not long ago when we were barely holding on to the docks. But now, we have started to counterattack and tighten the noose around the fascists. And in the larger scheme of things, lad, we have felt…alone."

"Alone, sir?" Renton asked quizzically. "How do you mean?"

"I mean, lad, that…we've felt we had no allies," Chuikov said with some note of despair in his gravelly voice. "Your country and mine may be allied against Germany, but recently we have felt your country has produced nothing to show for that alliance. My government has pushed constantly for a second front in the west to relieve pressure from us, but so far we have not seen that."

Renton immediately felt like speaking out to provide the reasons for this injustice he knew was being committed against his allies, but before he could even open his mouth to speak, Chuikov raised a tired scarred hand.

"The fault does not lie with you, lad. But I think it is best you know the situation my people face right now. You coming here far away from the comfort and safety of your home to risk your life here is what makes you a hero in the eyes of our people."

Renton did not know what to say. There wasn't anything _to_ be said. He knew about the conflicts between Stalin and the Western Allies for the opening of a second front and how the foreign minister Molotov always pushed for one at every meeting. Renton thought a second front had been opened in North Africa, but he knew as well as any that that would not be enough to relieve the pressure from the Russian forces struggling to fight back the German incursion. However, if a general said that his being here was enough a morale booster to keep the troops fighting on, it was good enough for him.

"I want to give you something, comrade Thurston, if only to show my appreciation for what you have done in such little time."

Chuikov turned to the table and picked up the small red and black box, holding it out to Renton with one hand over the lid.

"There were some rumblings from your company that you should be decorated for your service here. You already received the Red Star for retrieving a comrade under fire. But some of us in Stavka2 felt you deserved something more for coming all the way out here when you could have easily stayed at home. And so, as a token of our deepest appreciation and sincere gratitude, and as a symbol for the regard with which my people hold yours…"

Chuikov opened the box, showing a medallion that sat waiting to be pinned on the personage of Renton. It was a small but brilliant medal, with a gold star hanging from a red ribbon on a rectangular suspension device, shining in the dimly lit room with the brilliance of God's light, recognizing Renton for all that he had accomplished in only five days. It was the mark of God's chosen one, the one destined to carry out and show his will to the hate-filled world. The one person who had reason and kindness still left in his heart.

"…I present you with my nation's highest honor: Hero of the Soviet Union."

Renton gulped at such a tremendous honor and weight to carry on his shoulders for the rest of his life. It was not just a symbol of triumph, but a mark of despair and sadness, one that would forever remind him of the sin he had to commit in the city he had come to love. He felt like knocking the medal out of the General's hand as he pinned it on the left side of Renton's chest, but he restrained himself from it, for fear of what should happen if he declined the medal.

"Wear it with pride, young man," Chuikov said with a sagely smile. "Wear it like the hero I know you to be."

"I am overwhelmed, sir," Renton replied, hiding his desire to refuse such bloodstained laurels. "I was never expecting such an honor to be bestowed upon me. I honestly didn't think that my actions merited such an award."

"You are too modest, Renton," Chuikov said with a hearty laugh. "You have done so much for us in the short span of five days. You have inspired a whole nation with a new determination to fight again. For that, I and the Soviet Union thank you."

Chuikov gave Renton a respectful salute, which Renton then returned, followed by a firm shaking of his hand. For a moment they were father and son, Chuikov looking upon his offspring in the flower of his youth and accomplishing the greatest achievement of his life. Renton only smiled and nodded, thinking only of one person that he longed to see more than anyone else. The girl who had been the method behind his madness this entire time. He had yet to accomplish one objective in this grand campaign, and until he found her, his mission here would be a failure. It was at that thought when Chuikov spoke again with the kind tone of a father,

"You have done more for us than we can express in words, but I wish to show you my personal gratitude."

"How, General?"

"I wish to grant you any favor you want. If there is anything you need or would like, just name it and I will grant it to you to the best of my ability."

Renton's spirits soared at that moment, finding an opportunity to at last complete his objective and go to whom he had been looking for all this time.

"There is one thing, sir."

Chuikov folded his hands behind him and blinked, the kind and soft light of God reflected in his gunmetal eyes.

"Sir, I came to Russia in search of someone. She is someone I met when I first traveled here four years ago before this awful war…and is someone very close to my heart. It is she, General, that I really came to Russia for. If there is anything I want, sir, it is only to see her again."

Chuikov smiled and chuckled, and for a moment everything was understood to both of them. Chuikov knew in an instant that this boy, this boy who did not even hail from this country, was a boy with a heart of gold. It was something he saw little of in the youth. That virtue that rang in his heart like a bell ringing through the foggy night was what found a place in Chuikov's heart. And it was that virtue that influenced what he said next.

"You are truly a good man, Renton. I'm glad there are still good men like you in the world."

"So then…you'll allow me to go?"

Chuikov chuckled.

"Yes, lad, of course. The Major told me about your little friend once before. It's his sister, isn't it?"

Renton's cheeks turned a shade of crimson upon the revelation that Vladimir had talked about the two of them to someone of such high standing.

"Yes, sir, it is. She and the Major's family were the best friends I had in this country…she especially."

"I know their father very well," Chuikov mused, stars of heavenly light glowing in his grey eyes. "He and I were good friends before this awful business happened. I know that he misses his children and his home very much, and I am sure he would be delighted to see you again."

Renton remembered Eureka's father very well. It was he who welcomed Renton and his father into their home when their ship back home was delayed for three weeks, and it was he who treated them not merely as guests, but as members of the family. He became more than just a friend, but a second father. He was a man one could look up to and easily turn to when in search for a word of advice. What must he be doing now? Perhaps he sat alone somewhere in a dark dimly lit room like this one, mulling over operations that would determine the course of the war, secretly longing to return to his children back home in their little city on the Volga.

"I don't suppose you could give him a message, General?" Renton asked meekly.

"Of course."

"Firstly, I wish him a Merry Christmas and I hope he is well. And secondly, I want to extend to him my deepest gratitude. It was he that welcomed my father and I into his home. I want him to know that he and his children are more than just friends to me now. They're a part of my family."

"I'll see to it personally he gets that message," Chuikov said with a genuine fatherly smile. "Now it is time you went to fulfill your duty to the ones you love most, my boy."

"Yes, sir. Of course."

Renton turned to go but Chuikov called out to him once more to give him a final parting word. Renton turned and saw what seemed to be the light of God glowing in his eyes, shining even through the ice and snow of Eureka's Russia, through the forests of Hitler's Germany, the fields of Jacques' France, the hills of Jane's England and over the oceans to Renton's America. Two men from two countries united by the fight for their God, their country, and all they held dear, stood staring at the other as Chuikov said his parting words.

"Do this for me: when you find the one you have been searching for, be sure to let her know just how much she means to you. And never let her go again."

Renton smiled. He knew that promise. The contract was not a new one. He had made that promise to Sonia as she whispered her last breaths of life on the frozen Volga. He had made that promise to himself before he even stepped on the ship that would take him across the Pacific to set foot on Russian soil. This was his solemn oath that he would make known to her when at last he would see her.

"Of course I will, General. I made that promise to myself long before I set foot on these shores."

"You've helped us, lad. Now turn to the one who needs your help more than any of us."

"Spasibo, General. Do svidaniya."

He gave Chuikov a parting salute and left the room, to be immediately greeted by Vladimir, who seemed to have waited for a long time. Vladimir did not say anything and seemed to know already what had transpired in that room, fully aware of the conversation that took place between Chuikov and he, and knew fully what would happen in the next several minutes.

"The new medal looks good on you, my old friend," Vladimir said complimenting him with a chuckle.

"I didn't think I would be befitting of such an honor to be called hero to an entire country."

"Your actions and your coming here alone is proof you are a hero, Rentoshka. More than you know."

"I suppose. There's just one thing left for me now…"

"I know what it is, Renton," Vladimir said knowingly with a glimmer of friendship and God's love in his grayish blue eyes.

Renton nodded, knowing that he understood what he had to do now. There was nothing left he could do for Vladimir and the others now. There was one person now who needed him more than any of them.

They walked back down the long corridor and into the room where Renton had his bullet removed from his leg. His leg didn't seem to be bother him much save for a slight twinge of pain when he leaned on it too much. It was here where they stopped and the two young men faced each other.

"It's too bad I can't stay longer with you, Volodya."

"Don't worry about us, Renton," Vladimir said chuckling at the never-ending dedication in his friend. "There is someone more important waiting for you at my old flat. She needs you much more than any of us do."

Renton nodded, trying to find words to say in parting with this man, one of his greatest friends, and a brother. Before he could even part his lips, Vladimir embraced him tightly.

"I never thought I would see you again…"

Renton was taken by surprise, but he shared in Vladimir's fears before he finally had the good fortune and grace of God to meet him again.

"But I'm glad that it didn't come true. I don't know what would have happened had you not come back."

"My only regret, Volodya, is that I was not here from the start."

Vladimir parted with him and looked him straight in his hazel eyes.

"You should not feel that, Renton," Vladimir said with a voice that sounded from the angels. "You had your own life back home that you had to live. We had lives we had to live here."

"I know that," Renton sighed, wishing that undeniable fact could be changed. "I just wish there was some way I could have been there…especially for her…"

"You're a good man, Renton," Vladimir chuckled, "I knew that from the day I met you. We all knew it. And you proved it to us by coming back. Now go to her. She's waiting for you."

With that they broke apart and said goodbye, leaving Renton alone in the hospital.

He quickly gathered his knapsack which he found beside his sickbed and slung his rifle over his shoulder, but once he had done that, his feet didn't move. For a few moments he simply stood and wondered what there was left for him now to do. He had fulfilled his duty to Vladimir and to the others in his company, all of them old friends from his first visit. He was allowed by General Chuikov himself to take leave, and to at last see the one person who mattered to him most in this realm of ice and snow. His last objective in this grand campaign he undertook upon setting foot on the shore of his second home. There was no need to wait any longer. Nothing stood in his way now between him and her. All he needed now was to take his first step.

Without an ounce of hesitation, that was precisely what he did.

»»»»»

**An apartment building in Soviet controlled Stalingrad, USSR**

The little girl woke up early one morning to the ring of her alarm clock. She hated that alarm clock. She moaned and groaned, "for God's sake, let me sleep!" She never liked getting up in the morning. She finally managed to shut the clock off after five minutes of feeling around for the thing. She rose up from bed and looked out the window with the crack from the incessant bombings. It was snowing heavily outside. She could barely see anything, it was so white. She could only make out two dark figures moving towards the bombed out flat that was her home. Mikhail and Holland, she thought, coming back from the market with what little food they could buy.

The girl sat down on the bed and looked around her room; there wasn't much to look at. There was a mirror, above a chest of drawers, a picture of her father, Pyotr Novikov, a picture of her brother Vladimir before the war, a little nightstand with a lamp whose bulb was nearly burned out, and a framed photograph of her, Vladimir, Mikhail, Holland and one person who stood out to her in particular. A boy stood with a happy smile and one arm around her petite 10-going-on-11 year old form. He had oak brown hair and dark eyes, wearing a plain white shirt with a brown knickerbockers, white socks and black Oxford shoes.

Her eyes welled up a little when she saw the boy. She had missed the boy deeply since the day he left. She often wondered if she would ever see him again. When she and the boy first met, he was 12 and she was going to turn 11 in November. Four years later, and her 15th birthday come and gone, she had never stopped thinking about him.

She always thought of him as her one true friend. She didn't have anyone else. All of her other friends were gone, either moved eastward to avoid the march of the fascist hordes, or had joined the army to halt their advance. The boy however was the one person she knew she could count on whatever shades the skies were. Be them cloudy or clear, he was there for her, if not in body, then in spirit. He was the one person out of all the others who made her genuinely, truly, happy. How she missed him so. How she wished that just for one instant she could see his face again

The girl changed from her old worn pajamas into her usual day clothes, which from months of siege and hellfire had turned into rags. Her dress was torn around the edges and near her knees, wounded fatally from the months of siege in her native city, having been caught in the crossfire. Her blouse was had also suffered its share of fatalities, torn with patches covering up the holes. Her felt boots by some miracle had managed to survive the slaughter with only a few holes near the edges and near her soles.

It had not always been like this. She could remember a time when her days in the sun were endless and each new morn she greeted with a bright smile that would run from ear to ear. Before the war, happy days never ended. When she was with the boy the light of God smiled down upon her and blessed with a beautiful day. The boy gave her the happiness she needed each day. But the boy was gone, and with him her happiness went along its merry way as well.

When war came, everything changed. Her family suffered many repressions and loss of privileges thanks to early German victories, but the destruction of their home trumped everything else. They had lost heating and electricity shortly after the first bombings that nearly killed all of them. All they had left now was water, but that would soon be gone too. Quite frankly, things were bad for them.

After the girl had gotten dressed, she turned to her mirror on the wall, grabbed her broken comb and started to comb her dark brown hair. Her hair was usually in a mess whenever she woke up, but she hardly cared at this point. She sobbed softly, hung her head, and dropped the comb, giving up what she saw as a futile attempt to control her hair. She looked down at her felt boots, pressed against the unsteady wood floor before she raised her head and looked in the mirror, staring intently at her reflection.

Her long wavy hair, now somewhat under control, was a dark brown like the earth in the spring when the flowers were all in bloom. Her eyes were a melancholy and mysterious shade of grey. The skin was white, whiter than all the snow that ever fell upon Russia. Her lips were grey, thin and cracked, whereas before they were red as the rose in summer. The face was of a sad child; the eyebrows were thin and nearly white from the cold, and the cheerful smile that once ran from ear to ear was now replaced by a small, lonesome, miserable wrinkled brow. She had changed so much in four years, but not for the better.

She felt like screaming at the top of her lungs, hoping that maybe the boy would hear her and come to her. Maybe things will change.

No.

This is just the beginning.

The War has not yet been won.

Why did she have to be born here, of all the places on this God-forsaken earth? Why did she have to be born on this battlefield? Oh, God, she cried in her head, why must I suffer like this? Why me? She waited for an answer, but there was none. She didn't expect one. She knew there was nothing.

No hope.

No peace.

No sunny mornings.

She furrowed her brow however at her pessimistic inward talk. It was only because of the war that things had become like this. When peace would come, things would return to the way they always were. She could not give up now, she repeated in her head.

_What would Renton say if he saw you like this? Stop crying and go meet your brothers. Life is hard, I know, but what can you do? The only thing you can do: stick it out. _

She wiped a tear and nodded firmly. When things look bleak, the only things one can do is stick to it and try to live for one more day. That was something the boy, Renton, taught her.

Her thoughts drifted to the boy, wondering where on this war torn and forsaken earth he was. She imagined him somewhere, sitting with his father and family huddled around a Christmas tree like how he often told her about the holidays in his country, opening and exchanging gifts in the spirit of goodwill. If only that spirit of goodwill existed everywhere, then this awful war would never have come to pass.

_Renton, where are you? Why aren't you here? We need you. __I__ need you._

She heard calls from Holland and Mikhail to come help with the food. She quickly walked out the door and went to greet her brothers.

»»»»»

A few hours had passed and it was now early in the afternoon at the Novikov home. The girl had gotten out some rationed rye bread and was cutting it up to stave off their hunger. Thank God we saved our ration cards, the girl silently praised as she kept slicing the bread as her brothers tried to find some way to relax. Mikhail, 15, was listening to the radio hoping to hear some good news from the front while Holland, 16, was sitting quietly in a corner listening to songs being played on a phonograph as he silently read a book whose content and title were unknown to either. The mood, among Mikhail and Holland at least, was one of calm and relaxation, in the happy knowledge that Christmas would soon be here.

The Novikovs originally did not celebrate Christmas, but after Renton had told them all about it when he first came to Stalingrad before the war began, they were enthusiastic about the holiday. However the holiday for them had less to do with Christ, and more to do with the spirit of giving and goodwill for one's fellow man.

Mikhail was a small boy with reddish brown hair and glasses, who was more suited to the home than to a battlefield. He was a rather meek character but had a quiet intelligence about him, that is, when he called upon it. Other times he could be mischievous and impish. He loved games and he along with his brother often tried to force the girl and Renton together, which often ended with amusing results. With the coming of war, there left that old youthful spirit he had harbored for so long, drained from him like the water from a sink.

Holland, was a tall thin boy with shoulder-length grey hair and grayish blue eyes, and a strong determined will. He was a tough young man of few words to strangers, but open and easy-going to those close to him, especially his younger sister. Rather than following his older brothers Vladimir and Dewey into the military like all else to halt the German invasion, he was content to stay at home, and watch over the last family he had left. He remembered Renton very well and had been one of the fast friends he made in his first visit. He saw the bond the girl and Renton shared and more often than not led the efforts to bring them closer.

Just as the rye bread was cut up into slices for open ended sandwiches, the girl heard a knock at the door of her flat. She sighed exasperated at all that she had to deal with.

_I'm so tired of this. Who's calling? _

She tried to think who it may be as she grabbed her white coatdress walked to the door. There were always some beggars going from door to door asking people if they could spare a couple rubles. It could also be some traveling salesmen trying to make a quick ruble with their offers which turn out to be scams. Was it the boy? She stopped right in her tracks at that thought. Maybe it _was_ Renton. He did say he was coming back to them all…but that was in a letter back in September, and who knows what could have happened between then and now?

There was another knock at the door.

Damn it to hell, she thought. Why do people always have to come barging in to our lives like this? It's enough to drive one crazy!

She reached the door and placed her numb hand on the knob. She started to turn, but then stopped. She breathed a deep exasperated sigh. She was so tired. She was so lonely. She wanted so desperately to see and talk to Renton. And now, on top of all that, people are coming up to her door and bothering her and her brothers! She wished that, just for once, it would stop. She slowly turned the knob and the door creaked open. With her eyes closed, she said, in an agitated tone,

"Whatever it is you're selling, we don't want any! Please go away and don't come back!"

"Eureka!" said a familiar voice. "Is that any way to greet an old friend?"

Eureka paused. That voice…so soothing…so gentle…so familiarly warm…

Could it be? Was she just hearing things? Was it really him?

She turned away, thinking it was just her mind playing tricks on her.

"C'mon, Eureka!" said the voice. "Please come out of your shell. Come on out and play!"

She refused to turn around, telling herself it was just her imagination. No…no…no. It can't be. It isn't. It's just her tired and broken head.

"You're not real," she said trying to hold back her tears.

"Are you quite sure about that?"

There was a slight pause. Eureka still didn't turn around.

"Well…no," she admitted uneasily. "I'm not really sure."

"Well, there is _one_ way to find out if I'm real or not."

"What's that?"

"All you have to do is turn around and look."

Eureka couldn't bear the torment anymore and relented.

_Alright, I'll look. I'll look so I can end all this. _

She slowly began to turn. When she was facing out the door, she still had her eyes closed.

"Eureka, you got to open your eyes."

Eureka's eyes slowly opened and looked at the mysterious visitor.

It was Renton.

He had changed since the last time she met. He had grown taller. His eyes were now a dark green, but he still had that piercing look she remembered so well. His smile was still the same little contented smile she was so familiar with. He wore a double-breasted black greatcoat with a grey muffler loosely worn around his thin neck and grey gloves on his hands. Matching his greatcoat were a pair of dark grey wool trousers tucked into black laced boots.

So much had changed. Even when he promised her when he left nothing would, everything did. Even he.

"Privyet, Eureka," said Renton in his calm soothing manner. "It's nice to see you again. How long has it been? Four years, now? It certainly shows with how much you've changed."

Eureka, overcome with joy, seeing him at last after four long years of separation marked by war, loneliness, and sadness, gasped and embraced Renton tightly, resting her head against his, crying softly tears of happiness she had not felt in years. She whispered, her words soft as the coo of a turtledove,

"Oh, Renton…"

Renton smiled happily, and slowly curled his arms around behind her in a gentle embrace.

"It's okay, now. I've got you…"

Eureka slowly lifted her head and gave Renton an affectionate Russian kiss, and Renton returned it. It was not a dream, that much she was certain. It was never one. As long as he was alive, the hope he would come back was always there. And he kept his promise, the same one he made when they first parted.

It was not a dream. It was all too real. And she wanted it to last forever.

Eureka turned inside and called out, "Mikhail! Holland! You'll never guess who's just arrived!"

"Father?" asked Holland.

"Vladimir?" asked Mikhail.

"Nyet! Come and see!"

They came running to the door, and immediately stopped in their tracks. They inched closer, their eyes wide in disbelief. Was it really him? Had Renton really come back?

"Hello Mikhail, Holland," said Renton with a smile. "You've gotten bigger since the last time I saw you."

Holland and Mikhail all rushed to him and joined Eureka in her embrace. They lost balance and fell into the snow on the front doorstep. Now they were rolling around in the snow laughing and cheering, "Renton's back! Renton's back!" They soon stopped and got up, still laughing, wiped the snow from their clothes and walked back into the house. Mikhail and Holland rushed back to the kitchen to prepare some food for their guest while Renton and Eureka sat down on two wooden chairs talking and laughing.

"Well, Eureka, how are you? You've gotten so much bigger since the last time I saw you!"

"A lot can happen in four years. What's happened to you?"

"Nothing of any particular interest. I've started high school and my father's joined the Marines, but that's about it."

"I'm still amazed you managed to come this far," Eureka said, tears of thankfulness in her eyes. "When December came around, we had heard nothing; we all feared something had happened to you."

"I got waylaid by Volodya. He needed a helping hand in his unit, so he gave me a spot to fill for a time."

"You got involved in the fighting?"

"Yes. I felt I had to."

Eureka looked over Renton and saw that he had two medals pinned to his chest. One was an enameled red pentagonal star, with a white metal image of a soldier bearing a rifle in the center. Below the soldier were the letters "CCCP" and surrounding him was that old Communist motto, "Workers of the world, unite!" At the bottom of the star was the hammer and sickle. Another medal next to that was a small gold star hung from a red ribbon on a suspension device, small but shining brightly.

"Renton," Eureka asked hesitantly, "how did you get those?"

"These?" said Renton, pointing to the medals. Eureka nodded.

"Well one of them I got after one of my last missions. My company and I were advancing towards city hall when a machinegun opened fire on us. Petya was hit, and I ran out there under fire to get him. Ken-Goh told Volodya what I did, and I was recommended for the Red Star."

Renton pointed to his medal.

"I didn't think the army gave those to foreigners," said Eureka, amazed by his story.

"Vladimir had to pull a lot of strings to get this for me!" Renton laughed and Eureka laughed with him.

"What about the second one?"

"General Chuikov gave me that one just today actually. He said that my coming all the way here proved to all living here that they do have allies in this fight and they weren't alone. He said I deserved the title…"

Renton then pointed to the medal.

"…_Hero of the Soviet Union._"

Eureka stood starry-eyed in amazement at the medal, the highest honor her country could bestow upon anyone. It was truly fitting for a brave person like him.

It was at that note when Holland and Mikhail brought some bread and mineral water to the small table that sat in front of Eureka and Renton, and then put a new record on the phonograph. It was a Russian dance that Holland and Mikhail began to dance to. Renton and Eureka soon rose and danced with the others. The song was a fast paced one with an accordion people singing. No one could understand the words, not even Eureka or her brothers, but no one cared; they only cared to celebrate Renton's return.

When the song was over, all crowded around Renton, for all wanted to recount old times, and hear Renton retell his journey and life since four years ago. Renton didn't have much to tell of life back home; he didn't have the good fortune to have such adventures as Vladimir's. None cared in the least, though; it was good to hear his voice again. They talked for a long while about things Renton and Eureka could barely keep track of when Mikhail noticed bandages wrapped around Renton's calf.

"How did you get that, Renton?" asked Mikhail.

"What, this?" said Renton, pointing to the bandages. Mikhail nodded. "I was wounded in the last battle before they sent me on leave."

"You were in the battle?" Mikhail exclaimed, excitedly.

"Dа. I was a temporary company commander in Vladimir's unit, until he found a replacement."

"How did it happen?"

"Well…my company was ordered to capture a train station that was under German control. I volunteered to go out and destroy a Panzer since I had some AT weapons that Ken-Goh gave me. As I was heading back to the train station, I felt a sharp pain in my left calf."

Renton pointed to his wound.

"That's how I got hit."

"Have you been in other battles?"

"No, just in Stalingrad," Renton said resignedly. "I'm done being a soldier. I left so I could see all of you."

"How long will you be staying?" asked Eureka, with a sense of great eagerness and hope.

Renton turned to her and smiled.

"That depends on what I can do to help you. I'm willing to stay as long as I have to."

There was a brief moment of silence as Mikhail yawned loudly.

"What time is it?" asked Mikhail, sleepily.

Eureka looked at the clock on the broken wall of the apartment. It was a quarter to seven. The night was approaching fast, and soon the temperature would drop. It was time for them to sleep through the cold winter night.

"Time for us to get to bed," said Eureka forlornly.

Holland turned to Renton and asked, "Renton, where will you sleep?"

Renton had never given it any great thought. He didn't want to encroach on anyone, especially Eureka. He knew, however, that if he didn't choose a bed, he would have to sleep in the den, where all the broken windows would let the cold wind in and freeze him to death.

"I don't know. I haven't thought about it."

"Renton, you can share my bed," suggested Eureka.

Renton turned to her, somewhat embarrassed. He didn't want to bother her, and he didn't like the idea of sleeping with a girl. All the same, though, she was still his good friend, and it would be more of sharing a bed with a sibling than with a total stranger.

"I don't want to be a bother, Eureka," said Renton.

"It's no trouble, really. My bed's big enough for two. I wouldn't mind sharing it."

With that, all went to their respective room to change into their nightclothes. In Eureka's room, Renton changed into his flannel pajamas while Eureka was in the bathroom, changing into her nightgown. Eureka's gown was torn and raggedy, also a casualty of the four month siege, and patched in all places. At least it was something, she thought. Eureka pondered what they would talk to each other about to ease each other to sleep, but when she found him in her bedroom, she was surprised to find him already sound asleep, tired from his journey and from his days of fighting in the streets of her home.

She stared for a moment at him, with a great feel of warmth and happiness. He was breathing quietly, his chest rising and falling with every breath. His face looked so peaceful, so calm, and so serene, as if he hadn't a care in the world, as if war had never come to begin with. It was that day again, back in 1938, when they first saw each other when he was welcomed into their home. It was that night again when he was slightly embarrassed about sharing a room with a girl, but bore it in any case. She crawled into the bed and inched herself next to him and felt the warmth of his body. She felt so safe and secure when she was with him.

He was her only real friend. He was so kind, caring and sympathetic. There was no one else in the world like him. A small tear ran down her cheek, she was so happy. Renton was back at last. Maybe now that he was back, there was still some hope for her, and for the others. She had held on to the hope that one day Renton would come back, and maybe take her away from this horrible place. Now, Renton was really back. He came for me, she thought as her eyes slowly closed. She fell asleep, just as it began to snow, and as the cold wind began to howl.

1 Volodya: affectionate diminutive for Vladimir

2 Stavka: the Russian word referring to the command apparatus of a military body or "headquarters" from the time of Kievan Rus to the Soviet Union.

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**Author's Note: I hope you enjoyed both Eureka's introduction as well as General Chuikov's cameo. (For any who are wondering, General Vasili Chuikov was a real person; you can look him up on Google. He is a highly decorated hero well regarded in modern-day Russia.) As I mentioned in the last entry, there won't be any more combat chapters, at least not against the Germans. What do I mean by that? Well, let's just say it's not the last bit of fighting that Renton will see before leaving Russia. However, the next chapters will be focusing on Renton and Eureka together, so stick around if you want to see that.**


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's note: In the original first volume, there was never a clear villain or antagonist who was seeking to obstruct or at least frustrate Renton in his plans. I got the idea of an antagonist**** based on a rivalry I had with a student in high school. It wasn't based out of difference in nationality but simply a difference in politics. ****I tried to translate that over into here with the antagonist's reasons for hating Renton so much. Renton didn't just make friends in Russia, but he made some pretty nasty enemies as well. Read on and enjoy.**

* * *

**Chapter Eleven**

**December 20****th****, 1942**

Eureka woke the next morning to find that Renton was already up and out of bed. He always was an early riser, she thought. She got up and walked into the living area to find Renton strenuously cleaning his Mosin-Nagant. Eureka was in a good playful mood that morning so she snuck up behind him and placed her hands over his eyes.

"Guess who?" asked Eureka.

Renton knew perfectly well it was Eureka, but decided to go along with the game.

"Gee. Let me think…" said Renton, pretending to be deep in thought.

Eureka giggled.

"Are you…Vladimir?" asked Renton.

"Nyet."

"Are you…General Zhukov?"

"Nyet."

"Are you…Joseph Stalin?"

"Nyet."

"Say…you wouldn't happen to be Eureka, now would you?"

"Hmmmm…. dа. I am Eureka Novikova, brother of Vladimir Novikov, and daughter of the great General Novikov!"

The two laughed and Eureka jumped over the old worn sofa and plopped down next to him. She watched him intently as he continued to clean the rifle. He took great care when cleaning it, never missing a spot on the rifle. He wiped the barrel clean, and started cleaning the inside of the cartridge chamber with a torn handkerchief. Eureka smiled with the happy feeling that she could at last talk to Renton again.

"What time is it?" asked Eureka, yawning.

Renton pulled out the little pocket watch that he always seemed to have. That watch was given to him by his father, or so Renton said when she first met him, as a gift on his tenth birthday. That little silver watch, with the large star embedded on the lid, was so much a part of him now.

"It's ten o'clock. You were in bed for quite a while," said Renton, smiling at Eureka.

"When did you get up?"

"At about eight."

"Why do you always wake up so early?"

"It's part of my daily routine. I always had to wake up to help Father and Willie on the farm."

"It figures. Farmers always wake up early."

"Are the others up?"

"They like to sleep late. They might not be up for a couple hours, so it's just us."

Renton looked up and smiled at his old friend. Of the friends he made here, he always liked Eureka the best. They always shared a common bond, though what that bond was neither of them knew. They were brother and sister in all but name. He remembered what she used to do with him when he first visited.

She always took him into the woods behind the city to a little tree house she and her brothers built. There they would always play games of "truth or dare", share secrets, have Renton teach her English, or listen to what life was like in America. She sometimes went with Renton and Vladimir whenever they went boating along the Volga. In his games of soldier with her brothers she served as a "nurse" for Renton's team. Renton and Eureka often spent most of their time together playing in the woods and along the river or sat near the train station watching all the trains go by. Mikhail and Holland liked to poke fun at them for spending all their time together, but the two always insisted that they were "just good friends."

Renton looked over his Mosin-Nagant. He remembered how often he used to hunt wolves with Vladimir in the woods with this rifle. He was known to be a good shot, but Vladimir always bested him at the shooting range.

"You know, Eureka," said Renton, reminiscing on those happier days, "Vladimir gave me this rifle when I arrived at the docks. I had to kill Germans with this rifle, this same rifle I hunted wolves with."

He got up and placed the rifle on the wall, and looked into Eureka's eyes. The eyes were sadder now, a solemn grey like the snow covered earth. Her hair was still dark, long and wavy, the way it was four years ago. The small childlike face was white as the snow, but it was not the happy face Renton remembered so well. The smile he was so familiar with had been replaced by a small sad frown. Poor little Eureka, he thought. She's suffered so much. It was by the grace of God that she was still here, but why was it that God had cursed her home to become a battlefield? It was God's good grace too that she had not met her end here, like so many others.

It was at that thought he remembered Sonia, passing away on the ice, barely a few steps out of the boat and towards the city. It was to her as well as General Chuikov that Renton made his solemn promise. Once he found her, he'd never lose her again, and he would let her know by the end of this long journey just how much she meant to him.

It was one more objective in this long campaign with himself that he needed to complete.

"Eureka," Renton said, turning away at the thought, "I saw something on the way here that I think you deserve to know. It has troubled me greatly."

"What is it?" asked Eureka, with great concern.

"Well…my train stopped in Siberia to pick up some troops from a village, and I met a woman who came from there. I bunked with her and I told her why I was here, and she promised me she'd help me find you. But only a few seconds after we arrived in Stalingrad, she died."

Eureka could easily see Renton trying hard to fight back tears he did not want to show. He wanted to stay strong for her, if only to give her strength to keep on living. His dark hazel eyes glistened with restrained sadness and guilt as he searched in her soft grey ones, but Eureka knew him enough to see that something much deeper than that was bothering him.

"That can't be what's troubling you…"

Renton chuckled, happy to know that the clever little whip of a girl that was Eureka had not faded out of existence with this war.

"There's no fooling you, is there, Eurekasha?"

"Would you expect any less from me, Rentoshka?"

Renton rubbed her head affectionately, stroking her downy-soft dark brown hair.

"Nikogda.1"

It was at that moment when they heard the clomping of footsteps from another bedroom from behind, heading in their direction. Renton and Eureka looked over the sofa to see Mikhail, beloved brother and trusted friend.

He wore a bright cheerful grin on his face as he walked, cleaning his glasses and looking like peace had already come, the enemy vanquished and the killing ended. To see that hopeful look in his eyes that there was still light in a world consumed by darkness gave Renton the perk in his spirit he sought for each day.

"Dobroye utro, rebyata2!"

"Dobroye, utro, Misha," they returned.

Yes, there was still a good morning to look forward to with the dawning of each sun. Even his greetings with such cheerful optimism did not fail to lift their thoughts to higher places.

"Did you sleep well, Renton?" Mikhail asked kindly, placing his glasses on the edge of his straight nose.

"Yes, thank you."

"How about you, sister?"

"I slept just fine, Misha."

Mikhail laughed as if he had already expected that kind of answer from her.

"Why bother asking? You sleep like a bear in hibernation!"

"Brother!" Eureka protested, her cheeks flushing a shade of crimson in embarrassment.

Renton could not help but laugh at the look of discomfiture on her childlike innocent face. That was one thing about her that had not changed these four years.

"He is right, though, Eureka," Renton said, trying to suppress his amusement. "You _do_ like to sleep in."

"Told you," Mikhail chuckled.

"Don't encourage him, Renton!" Eureka protested. "And like you don't sleep in from time to time, brother…"

Eureka slyly smiled knowing that Mikhail could not deny that truth about him and his brother and their sleeping habits. Mikhail tugged at his pajama shirt collar, chuckling nervously.

"Err…well…"

"She has you there, Mischa," Renton chuckled. "I remember one day when Eureka and I tried to blow a kazoo in your ear and you _still_ wouldn't wake up!"

Mikhail took his turn in blushing now, but all laughed at the fond memory of long ago, in the days when the bright sky and the sun were always counted on each morning. Just as they were enjoying recalling upon memories of fonder days, another yawn was heard, followed by the heavy footsteps of another brother, Holland.

"Dobroye utro, rebyata," he yawned, rubbing his eyes as he walked, still sporting an optimistic bright look in his eyes.

"Dobroye utro, Holland," they all greeted.

"Sleep well?" Eureka asked.

"Much better than I did a month ago."

"What do you mean a month ago?" Renton asked curiously.

"The artillery bombardments were so loud and went on for so long. The shelling back then was so incessant I had insomnia for the whole of November."

"Now that the Germans are being squeezed in from all sides," Eureka added, "they can't fire their artillery as often anymore."

Renton only nodded, seeing how awful the war had been for them that it even deprived them of sleep for a month. It was truly by the grace of God they had not met their premature ends in this, their home.

"What shall we do today?" Eureka asked, with bright sparkle in her eyes that Renton had thought had disappeared like much else had with this war.

"I thought today we could all go out," Mikhail suggested. "Like old times."

"Go out?" Renton repeated worriedly. "Won't we get shot at if we go out?"

"We won't," Holland assured. "Our side has been in control of this part of the city since the start of the battle. We're safe for the most part."

Taking them at their word, Renton only acquiesced; they had been in the thick of battle long enough to know what was safe to do and not do.

After a quick breakfast on what remained of their month's rations, and after a quick changing of clothes, they were ready to leave the flat for the outside world, where survival was all one could hope for. But before they left, Renton picked up the old Mosin-Nagant rifle he had been cleaning, loading it with one clip. His only words were:

"You can never be too careful."

They left the flat and set foot into a heavy snow, so heavy the flats on the other side of the street were barely visible. The snowfall did not deter any of them however, since they knew this city like the back of their hand. They could find their way anywhere in this city blindfolded.

Renton smiled as he watched Eureka skip along through the snow, her black boots crunching and leaving her footprints which would soon be covered up by the successor snowflakes that fell silently and softly from the cloudy grey skies, where the sun was no longer able to shine. There was a bounce in her step that even she thought had gone with the arrival of war. She even twirled on her booted toes like a ballerina, her torn dress and coat spinning and rising higher and higher, showing off more of her graceful womanly figure to Renton's eyes. She innocently laughed, as if none of this disaster had ever come to pass, her laugh mocking the horrors of the world that served to bring pain and anguish in the hearts of men. Her hair danced in the cold wind, snowflakes clinging to her dark strands, the pure innocent white fluff cleansing her hair.

This girl, this girl who was cursed to grow up in a battlefield, living in the void between childhood and adulthood, still had that childlike sensibility, in a world that had been raped and beaten until the wisest and strongest of men could only weep. Her delicate sinewy form had been untouched, unsoiled by the appalling ugliness of the world. He smiled seeing her so happy, hearing that gentle laugh he thought would have been gone by the time he at last reached her.

He followed them through the blinding snowfall, knowing he could trust in their sense of direction. Traveling through the winding streets, not entirely sure of where they were taking him, Renton only passed by the houses scarred by battle. Some had broken walls. Others had broken windows. And a few were just broken. What a terrible thing was war. Eureka did not deserve to live in such a place where nothing was certain, not even seeing the sun the next dawn. None of them deserved to be consigned to a fate of living on a battlefield. He felt like crying out and pointing his rifle at whoever was the cause of all this destruction, but even if he could, the war would still wage. That was something he knew, and yet could not accept.

What could he do?

Who was to blame?

Why did it have to be her?

In a split-second all these questions flooded him. He knew he came all this way to find a way to alleviate all the pain she must be feeling under that soft exterior. The only question was how. He came too to show her how much she meant to him; he had made that promise already. There was always a way to show her. He just had to find the right moment to do it now.

They came to a small park with a playground, covered in a thick white blanket of snow. Upon seeing the old place, Renton smiled fondly; he knew this park well. He and Eureka and her brothers often came here to play back when he first came here, in those days when the sun was able to shine each morn. She and he would often go on the swing set to see who could swing the highest, and her brothers would ride on the spinning wheel or romp in the grass. It evoked the image of a Christmas card Renton saw once with a man and woman arm in arm looking on the children playing without a care in the world. Images of happier days flooded his thoughts when he suddenly felt the tugging of someone on his coat sleeve.

"Do you remember how often we played here?" she asked.

"All too well," he replied, smiling.

Giggling like a girl in love for the first time, she pulled him towards their old spot on the playground: the swing set that had carried them so high into the air with dreams and hopes.

As Holland and Mikhail ran in the snow like they often did under happier skies, Renton and Eureka sat on the two swings they would always play on. The chains were frozen with ice, the seats cold from the snow. Even if they could not swing now as they did in old times, they were happy, only because they had found each other at last.

"Do you remember how often we would see who could swing the highest?" Renton reminisced, chuckling at the fond memory.

"My brothers were never good judges," Eureka laughed.

"You think we could ever swing as high as we did in the old days?"

"Mozhet byt'3. Do you want to see if we can?"

"That may be difficult since the swings are frozen…"

"Oh dear," she giggled. "That presents a problem."

"I can move it and try to break the ice…"

"Don't," she said in a small plea, taking his gloved hand in hers. "I like everything just how it is now."

Renton only smiled and nodded as she squeezed his hand affectionately, as if he was a spirit that would be gone in the next second. He was no spirit however. He was all too real.

Eureka suddenly remembered what they had talked about earlier that morning, the melancholy and guilt-ridden look on Renton's kind face and the ignominy in his protective voice.

"Renton you said something troubled you on the way here. What was it?"

Renton hung his head down in shame, feeling the guilt that had wracked him this whole journey. The feeling of helplessness before the powers that lay beyond his control. The feeling of a broken promise to her, _her_, of all the people in the world.

"While I was traveling here," Renton said, trying to hold back the sadness that had consumed him this journey, "I feared you would meet your end with your brothers and whoever else was here before I got to see you again."

"Well you don't have to worry anymore," Eureka reassured him. "I'm alive and well as you can see."

"That's not what troubled me. I can only begin to imagine what you must have experienced since this terrible battle began. No, not just the battle. When this whole war began."

"Renton…" Eureka started, taken aback by his melancholy.

Renton stood on his booted feet, still clasping her hand, and his eyes glistening with repressed guilt.

"I promised you that I'd always be there for you in hard times. I swore I'd never make you feel helpless or lost. I swore not just to you…but to myself. But when this war came about, I could not be there for you when you needed me. I could not even be by your side when the war finally came to your doorstep, and so many lives were lost in this awful battle."

Eureka only looked on at him, feeling his gloved hand quiver with his expression of grief, his sharing of his guilt. He never talked like this once when he first came to visit. Only now, after the fact, after the horrible reality had slapped him out of his dreamlike childhood, did he realize just what this world had come to, and what its follies had cost him.

"I promised that nothing would ever come to harm you, but I wasn't there to keep my promise when it mattered. Every day that passed on my trip here, I kept wishing for a way that I could have traded everything I had back home to just stay with you when everything changed. And if there was still a way to change my life so that I could stay with you now, I'd jump at it."

Eureka blushed in slight embarrassment at his heartfelt admonition of himself, but she smiled. Saying all of that now just proved to her once again that he was still that one true friend she could always count on and turn to. No, he had not been here with her when it mattered, but thinking of him managed to keep her alive, able to face tomorrow even when all hope seemed lost. The countless letters filled with his kind devoted words and her mere thoughts of him had been enough to keep from breaking all this time. And now, after trekking across the frozen steppes of her home, after living through five days and nights of sheer hell in the chaos of battle, he had come back…to _her_.

"Renton," she whispered gently, her words forming small wisps of smoke in the cold stinging air, "you have not broken anything, least of all your promise."

Renton turned to her, a bright tear standing in his once strong hazel eye, now shaking and crumbling from the tremendous guilt he felt with himself. How was it that she, the one he had broken the promise with, was now forgiving him after everything? Was she an angel, displaced from Paradise? Was she a saint, forgotten among the world that had shunned God and the Commandments he brought to his mortal children?

"How can you say that?" Renton asked his voice breaking. "I left you all alone, in the face of all this madness!"

"I wasn't alone, Renton," Eureka replied calmly, taking her free hand and joining it with his other. "You _were_ there for me."

"How? I could never go to you when I wanted! Only now after so much has been done to your home have I been able to—"

He was broken off when Eureka placed her delicate fingers on his slightly chapped lips, giggling quietly at his apparent lack of understanding.

"You think far too much, Rentoshka. Perhaps not _here_, by my side…but in my thoughts you were always there."

Renton's eyes widened, seeing this little girl who had seen the horrors no 15-year-old deserved to see still brave a smile, still give a feminine girlish giggle, still mock the war that had turned everything upside down and had dragged everyone to hell, still deride the demons that had brought the world untold suffering to unknown millions.

"Thinking of you wherever you were always gave me the strength to face each day. Knowing that one day, some day in the future, you'd come back to us, was enough to keep me going. And I knew you never forgot about any of us, Rentoshka."

"Eureka…I…"

She shook her head, as if willing away the words that she knew he would say.

"I know what you want to say, Renton, and you don't have to apologize for anything. You have not wronged me, ever. It was not your fault war had to come. It was not your fault that you had to go back to your own home. Your place was there; mine was here. But you've come back, and your standing here is proof enough to me that you never broke any promise you made."

Eureka unbuttoned her white winter coat, and opened it up, showing to him her blue dress, that symbol of the innocence she had maintained since she had met him, still standing strong despite the scars of war evident in the tears along its hem and the patches around her breast. She softly laughed, as if inviting him in to share in her warmth, like a mother protecting her child from the cruel reality no one deserved to face.

"Whatever pain you feel, I'll help ease it. Whatever wrong you think you had to commit, I'll help your carry it. If only you will let me."

Renton could only smile, seeing that this girl he had met only four years ago on this soil still remained the innocent and caring soul he remembered her to be. He stepped in as Eureka closed her coat behind him, allowing him to share in the warmth that emanated from her body. Perhaps she _was_ an angel misplaced, her body so warm and the feeling so safe. His arms found their place curled around her small sinewy waist, pulling her close to him so that their faces were mere inches apart, forced to look nowhere else but into the eyes of the other.

In Eureka's eyes there was a quiet defiance in the face of all that mocked goodness and the forces for peace, hiding in the midst of tales of untold horror that this little girl had been witnessed to all these months. In Renton's eyes there was the want to go back to peaceful times when threats of war seemed a distant and untouchable trouble. Both would give everything to have it all back. Sadly life moves only forward, and fate does not give preference to the desires of a one.

"May I at least make one apology?" Renton offered, still wanting to say something he felt needed to be said.

"If you feel you must, I can't stop you."

"I am only sorry it was you and not me."

Eureka could only laugh quietly, and planted a soft, caring kiss on his cheek, a gesture to show just how much it meant for him to say that.

"Saying that just proves to me you are a good man and always have been."

As they quietly rejoiced in the fact they were together again, in mocking of the world that derided peace and love for one another, Eureka's brothers called out to them, entreating them to come join in their revelry. Eureka and Renton looked to each other, not even having to utter one word to ask the other if they should join them. They were long past the point of telling each other in words what they wanted. It could be told by one glance into the eyes of the other.

They laughed and trudged over to them, joining them in their frolic and dance in the snow, tossing some up into the air like confetti on a New Year's Eve party. They danced around in a circle like they often did back when they were young and all problems a great distance away, singing songs they never thought would be sung again, laughing laughs they never thought could be heard again, and loving when they thought they could never hope to love again.

As they danced, a figure from long past, patrolling the streets he thought abandoned by civilians and untouched by German troops, happened upon the small band of civilians in the park. He was shocked and surprised to see that there were still noncombatants in this metropolis that had become a frontline city. How was it that some civilians ignored the call to leave when they had the chance? Perhaps it was to desperately cling to a home when they knew they had nowhere to go.

"What's all this, then? Civilians out so close to the warzone?"

At those words all stopped as if put under a spell. Renton instinctively knew that snide and prideful voice anywhere. It was a voice from his youth, a voice from the first days he spent here, and a voice he hoped he would never hear again.

He turned, and he saw the soldier that had called them out. He looked to be about 17 with earth brown hair much like Eureka's and eyes of decadent dark chocolate, eyes that seemed to hunger for a higher position than this, the position of death. He was clean-shaven, and had a slight build to him, looking to be somewhat undeserving of the position he occupied. Just by his stance and his posture he gave the impression of someone who was not so easy to be liked.

He knew him from anywhere.

"Well," Renton said with a sly chuckle, "look who's here."

"If it isn't the runt," Holland laughed derisively at the sight of their childhood acquaintance. "Ilya Pavlovich Chertov."

The man, Chertov, scowled upon realizing just who he had met. No, it could not be who he thought they were! It was impossible!

"Wait…no, you can't be…!"

"The Novikov brothers," Holland and Mikhail greeted together sardonically. "Our _dis_pleasure."

Chertov's chocolate brown eyes widened to the size of saucers upon hearing those names. He then turned to Renton, and in an instant knew who he was looking to.

Renton knew this man from his first visit while the Novikovs knew him from even farther back. The moment he set foot in the city Renton and Chertov instantly became rivals, for a reason that Renton himself could not seem to fathom. They fought constantly over many things that Renton could now barely remember, but one thing he always remembered about him was that sense of utter contempt from every ounce of Chertov. From his spiteful voice to the arrogance in his step, he even breathed the feeling of hatred for this boy that he hardly even knew.

"Long time, no see, Chertov," Renton chuckled.

"THURSTON!" Chertov screamed in utter fury, breaking the still of the wintry air. "You, here?"

"What?" Renton laughed at the seemingly stupid question. "Am I not allowed to travel where I choose?"

"Why have you come _here_? This is not your fight, boy. Go home!"

"It's everyone's fight, Chertov. And I can't go home. Not yet."

Chertov snarled at Renton's words, only serving to infuriate him more.

"What could possibly drive you to come here, to this country that is not even yours?"

Renton laughed again, as Chertov seemed to spin off continually idiotic questions. He only placed stepped behind Eureka and placed both hands on her shoulders, as if shielding her from the horrors of the reality.

"Someone who means more to me than anything in this world. Someone that deserves better than what is found here."

Eureka blushed, and looked up towards Renton's stern green eyes, staring back at Chertov's chocolate brown ones, resolute and like a wall never breaking. Renton felt her gaze and said quietly to her,

"And that's the honest truth."

Chertov took two solemn and hard steps in the snow towards him, pointing a gloved finger as if he was a lawyer in a courtroom asking demanding questions of a defendant who was irretrievably guilty.

"You have found that person. Now your job is done! Go home!"

"I'm afraid it isn't done yet. I came to help her any way I could, and until I know how to do that, I'm not leaving."

"Eureka is NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS!"

"That's where you're wrong," Holland spoke up. "She _is_, just as she is mine and Mikhail's business."

Holland turned his strong blue eyes to Renton's dark piercing hazel ones, and for a moment they understood.

"And she is more _his_ than any of ours now."

Renton did not say anything but understood what Holland meant. His words however only seemed to further aggravate Chertov.

"Stay out of this, Novikov," he spat contemptuously, not even dignifying Holland's words by calling him by his first name.

"He has every right to be in this as Renton does," Eureka spoke up, her grey eyes sparking with the inner fire that Renton had thought put out. "He's my brother, and Renton is my friend."

Chertov turned a glaring brown eye to Eureka's strong grey ones, and only chuckled. That chuckle did not stay one for long however, as it soon evolved into a hearty laugh, and then an uncontrollable guffaw as if the girl had just uttered the most unintelligent statement imaginable, so irretrievably ignorant it was hilarious.

"I really feel sorry for you, Eureka Petrovna."

"Why, if you please?" Eureka asked, seemingly confused by Chertov's feeling of pity.

"To think that you could be foolish enough to choose a bourgeois kulak4 Yank as deserving enough for you."

"He's a better man than you will ever be, Ilya."

"Heh," Chertov scoffed. "He never was there when it mattered, if I remember correctly. If he is the better man, then why show up now? Why not show up when the fighting had begun, when it mattered?"

"I wanted to come!" Renton protested, knowing Chertov pointed out an injustice he knew he had committed. "I really did, but I wasn't able. I had school to worry about, and—"

"School…heh. So you put off seeing someone close to you because of your academic obligations? Just what kind of friend are you?"

"Stop it Ilya!" Eureka screamed, trying hard to hold back tears in her unflinching grey eyes. "It's true Renton was not here…but it didn't matter. Because I still thought of him every day! And every day I thought of him, I knew that he would come back one day! The proof of that is him being here now!"

Chertov looked to the crying girl before him and could not help but chuckle, at which Renton was left stunned. How could someone, _anyone with a human heart_, derive such amusement from seeing a girl's heart breaking?

"I suggest you go, Ilya," Renton warned, "before you make more of a mess than you have already."

"Heh," Chertov scoffed, "Before putting you out of the picture? How can I do that? Then again, I could always find some fascist so ready to die that he will do the dirty work for me in exchange of me putting him out of his misery…"

Chertov spun on his heel and started to go, but then heard the cocking of a rifle. He turned, and found himself staring down the barrel of Renton's Mosin-Nagant.

He had a fire in his eyes, glinting with the luster of a bayonet, his oak brown hair slightly swaying in the winter winds, along with the hems of his coat. Small puffs of hot smoke materialized from his heavy pants.

"Take one more step and you're dead."

"What did you say?" he asked disbelievingly.

"You heard me. If you take steps towards such a heinous act, I won't hesitate."

Chertov laughed at the seemingly meaningless threat by Renton.

"You don't have what it takes to fire that rifle."

"I've killed Germans before…" Renton warned him, his finger curling around the trigger. "And I'll kill you if I have to, Chertov."

Chertov stepped again, unbelieving of what he was bearing witness to. Always Renton never seemed to be the kind of person who was so ready to put up a fight. They never came to fisticuffs back in the day, but now…he seemed so resolute, so unwavering in purpose and determination. So unlike the 12-year-old boy he met when he first stepped into the city, slightly afraid, unsure of himself and of others. But now…he had grown up.

"I came here to protect Eureka. And I will destroy anything that comes to hurt her, and that includes you if I must, Chertov."

Renton saw Chertov's pupils dilate, heard his teeth grind, and saw him reach for a bayonet tucked in a scabbard by his belt. Chertov's lips parted and he hissed, spewing smoke in the cold air,

"You wouldn't dare…!"

In a flash, faster than in the blink of an eye, Renton felt something hit him in the abdomen, and found himself flying backward, landing on the cold cutting ice and freezing snow.

"Renton!" Eureka cried in fear of what may happen next.

Renton started to get back on his feet, but he soon saw Chertov charging him, with a glinting object drawn…a bayonet, ready to plunge into the heart of his hated rival.

"HA!" Chertov scoffed as he ran. "For the fame you have to your name, it's all too easy to knock you down!"

Renton chuckled as he leveled his rifle, and planting his booted feet firmly in the snow, as if claiming territory.

"You forget one thing," he said slyly as he slowly stood up, unharmed. "I will always rise back up."

They made contact, and Renton blocked Chertov's rage-filled attack and tried to knock him out with a clubbing to the head. Chertov however flung his head back and barely missed the butt of Renton's rifle, and tried once again to knock him down with a punch to the face.

That succeeded in throwing Renton back a few feet, but he stood strong, never one to fall flat in a fight. Undaunted and infused with vengeful purpose, Chertov raced toward him, bayonet in hand, aiming right for his heart. Renton blocked him however and they struggled and pushed to knock one of them down, simply using brute strength. Renton looked deep into his old rival's dark brown eyes, seeing not an ounce of empathy in the boy he had met and had made an enemy out of when he first set foot in this city. He was still the brash, bragging, and violent character he was when they met.

"You think you can survive this?" Chertov asked.

"Compared to fighting Germans, you're a cakewalk."

Renton stomped on Chertov's booted foot, sending him hopping back and cursing in pain. Renton seized the initiative and charged him, all the while ignoring Eureka's pleas for the fight to end.

"Ilya, Rentoshka, stoy'tye5! STOY'TYE!"

Renton could not even hear her, as he charged at him, first slashing Chertov's hand that grasped his bayonet, rendering it useless. Then, swinging his rifle like a club, scored a blow to Chertov's head, knocking him down to the ground.

Here, Renton could have simply stopped, but for some reason, no matter how much his brain commanded him to stop, he could not, as he brought his rifle to his shoulder. He aimed right between Chertov's eyes and slowly squeezed the trigger, and all other things seemingly faded out of existence, leaving only Chertov and him in the cold, biting snow.

The trigger gave way.

A shot rang out, murdering the stillness of the air.

Renton opened his eyes and expected to see a hole in Chertov's forehead, but instead saw that his shot had missed, and had left a mark of black and smoke in the snow. It was then too that he felt something else…something else that was keeping him from going on into the madness he had a short time ago been consumed in.

He turned, and saw the girl he had committed all these sins for holding on to him, arms wrapped around his abdomen, crying into his coat, muttering to him and to herself, begging, pleading.

"Please…Rentoshka…no more…no more…"

For a moment, everything else disappeared. He thought…nay, he knew that she cried for him becoming another victim to the madness that overtook everyone in war. He had taken on the burden of every soldier, but now it was more than that. She could understand what he had done against the Germans that still fought for this city. But this…

"Please don't go where I can't follow you," Eureka pleaded, her voice and her heart breaking.

Renton said nothing, and he could do nothing. He had come to her to take away her sadness. To see himself become the cause of her own sorrow was something he could never live with. He would rather die than cause her any more pain. His grip weakened, the rifle fell to the ground, and the madness ended as he took her delicate white-gloved hand.

"I promised you would never be sad or lonely again. I will stay here, with you, if that is what you wish."

Renton took one step to walk away from this low in his life, when he and Eureka were interrupted by the cackle of Chertov.

"Are you serious?" he said, incredulously. "What is this, a radio drama?"

Renton turned to Chertov, still lying on his back in the snow, but slowly lifting himself up, laughing as if they had uttered the funniest joke in existence.

"You had the chance to put an end to this rivalry of ours once and for all, and you botch it by some sentiment for a girl? Eureka Petrovna, you hate me as much as your lover does, and yet you stop him now when he has me? What is this nonsense that you all show?"

"It's something called compassion, Ilya," Eureka said with stern but teary grey eyes. "Something I know you would never understand."

"Compassion?" he scoffed contemptuously and disbelievingly at the word. "You think this world knows such a word, when we all kill each other every day? Do you believe any of us still think of compassion when we see our enemy marching toward us?"

Renton glared at his rival, seeing no empathy, no humanity from this man he had known since the day he came to this martyred city.

"It doesn't matter whether it's during war or during peace. We are all still human, Chertov. And all humans, no matter where we come from, have dignity and enough emotion to feel compassion. And if you cannot feel that, then you have no right to call yourself human."

Chertov scowled and felt a seething fire burn in his heart. As he jumped to his feet and was about to attack Renton head on, he was caught by Eureka's brothers.

"It's about time you left, Ilya Pavlovich," Holland said to him sternly.

"You always were on _his_ side, Holland Petrovich…" Chertov scoffed.

"I am on his side because I know he is a man who I can count on, always."

"And how do you know that he will not turn on you when you least expect it? His nation may be our ally in this war, but it will be our enemy in the next! He is a capitalist! He is a bourgeois pig! He is—!"

"The kindest, bravest, and most loyal friend I have ever had," Eureka finished, her grey eyes glinting with the luster of a bayonet, plunging straight into his very soul.

Chertov turned his eyes to her, still lost in disbelief that this girl who seemed to have been disowned by the cruel and unforgiving war still held strong and held to the emotions that now all men scoffed and mocked.

"You disappoint me…"

"If not giving into vengeance is what you call disappointment, Ilya, I am sorry. But none of us are what you are. We didn't let the war change us as you did."

"Now leave," Holland repeated, blue eyes flickering with a repressed anger. "It's high time you went back to your business."

Chertov said nothing, but only wrenched himself out of Holland and Mikhail's grasp, and scoffed once more.

"Fine, I'll leave. But know this, all of you. This day will not be forgotten, and if ever we meet again, perhaps by that time you will know what has driven me down this path. You cannot ignore the darkness that resides in all of us."

Chertov spun on his heel and walked away nonchalantly, as if nothing had transpired between them at all. The three siblings and their close friend could only look on in contempt as they watched their old enemy walk away, with a note of arrogance in each step.

It was not the Germans, the Italians or the Japanese that were their enemy. The true enemy was what that man stood for. That loss of what makes one human was what all of them, soldier and civilian, fought continuously against.

They all looked to each other, each in search of some answer that could resolve all the feelings they now felt flowing through them, an answer that could explain the questions they all asked in their minds, but none spoke, for a long time, simply because no one could find the words to show what each of them felt in their hearts and minds.

After a few more minutes, when Chertov was completely out of sight, Renton finally spoke up and said,

"Idyom domoy6."

1 Never.

2 Good morning everyone!

3 Maybe.

4 Kulak (meaning "tight-fisted") is a Russian word used to refer to the relatively affluent landowning peasant class from the late Russian Empire and early Soviet Union. Kulaks were targets of Stalin's repressions in the late 1920s and early 1930s in his collectivization programs and political purges. Renton would technically fit in to the category of "kulak" since he is born from a yeoman farming family, but after the Great Depression he is not by any means affluent.

5 Stoy'tye: Stop! (imperative form)

6 Let's go home.


	12. Chapter 12

******Author's Note: I guess you could consider this the turning point in the whole story, what sets off the falling action. Expect updates to come a little faster now, as we are approaching the end of this part of the historical. To the people who have been sending me messages and criticisms, I offer my thanks, and encourage anyone who has not said anything yet about this fiction to please do so. Any words are appreciated by me greatly. So enjoy this little plot of romance between Renton and Eureka before the action starts up again.**

* * *

**Chapter Twelve**

**August 15****th****, 1938**

"Truth or dare?" asked the dark-haired girl.

"Hmmm…"

The brown-haired boy pondered the challenge for a moment as he rubbed his chin. There was a mischievous glint in the girl's snow grey eyes as she waited in anticipation of his answer.

"Truth?"

"Okay, then," she said immediately, "Did you ever have a crush on someone?"

The boy's cheeks turned a shade of pink, as he stammered and stumbled over his words. He never expected the girl would ask a question like that!

"Wh-what? What kind of question is that?"

"Shto nye tak1? You're not going to answer? I have a dare if you don't."

"No, I'll answer, I'll answer!" the boy protested. "I just…didn't think you'd ask something like that."

The boy deeply inhaled, mentally searching for any and all possible moments of courtship in his head.

"One time…when I was 10…" he began.

The girl smiled and leaned on the walls of the treehouse they both sat in. She didn't really want to embarrass the boy but rather hear more about his life back home, something he kept his lips habitually tight about.

"…there was a girl who lived in a beach town," he continued, his young face growing redder, "and came out to the country sometimes."

"Biyla ana krasivaya2?"

The boy laughed nervously, unsure of what to say.

"Well? Was she?" the girl repeated.

"Yes…" he said hesitantly. "She was. Had short blonde hair, brown eyes…"

He seemed to trail off, unsure of what more to say. The girl asked him another question about the boy's innocent crush.

"What happened to her? Did you ever confess to her?"

"God, no," the boy said, apprehensive at the mere thought. "I only met her a few times. She didn't care about me at all; she and her family just wanted to buy my father's corn. When the deal was done, I never saw her again."

The boy exhaled and the heat receded from his face, as if a great burden had been lifted from his shoulders.

"So, that satisfy you?"

"Yes," the girl said happily. "Your turn."

"Truth or dare?"

He smiled excitedly, wanting to have a challenge.

"Dare!"

The girl sat up, off the walls and awaited whatever challenge the boy gave her. However, the boy was now at a quandary, as he searched throughout his head for something, _anything_, to give her as a challenge.

"I dare you to…to…"

"Don't you have one?" the girl asked. "You're the one who dared me, after all."

He rubbed the back of his head uneasily, and laughed.

"I guess I've wanted to dare so much I didn't even think about one!"

"Well…if you don't have a dare…" the girl said, a smirk on her loving lips, "I do."

He beamed, eagerly waiting to hear the challenge the girl had for him. The girl wasted no time in giving it.

"Rentoshka," she said, blushing slightly, "would you like to kiss me?"

The boy's jaw dropped in total shock at the girl's question.

"Wait, what?!"

"If you have a dare for me, then you don't have to do this."

The boy looked away, his cheeks turning bright red, blushing harder than he ever had before in his young life.

"I-I don't."

"So," the girl giggled, "kiss me."

He gulped hard, realizing no girl had ever asked him for such a favor. Not back on his farm, not in his hometown, not even in his long and arduous travels with his father throughout Europe. She was his first. The first girl who ever treated him like a friend. The first girl who didn't mock him for coming from the country, or for having a mixed background. The first girl who laughed with him, played with him, and now, was asking to share a first kiss with him.

"Eureka…I…"

"Is something wrong, Renton?"

"I've…never kissed anyone before."

"Neither have I," the girl admitted, blushing. "This should be interesting, then…"

"Yes…I suppose it would be…"

The boy and the girl inched closer to each other, bridging the gap of space between them in this little hut up in the trees. Their hearts were pounding louder and harder than a beating drum. Sweat began to form on the young boy's brow, overcome with nervousness and anxiety at this, the first kiss of his young life. The girl's eyes entreated him closer, teasing him with their longing gaze. Entranced by a faint scent of jasmine in her hair, he now sat mere inches away from her, their eyes locked on each other. The boy was breathing heavily, feeling about ready to faint from this immense challenge. The girl giggled.

"Renton, your breathing tickles me."

"Sorry. I'll hold my breath."

The boy took in a deep breath as if he was about to dive into deep waters. He then pursed his lips and slowly inched closer to her. The girl moved no further, determined to make _him_ kiss _her_. His heart skipped a beat, and without any control over his senses, his lips touched hers.

In an instant, he felt elated and light-headed, the temperature in his body rising high enough for him to have a fever. But at the same time, he didn't want to pull away from this incredible feeling. It was as if their souls had connected by way of their lips, and all of his senses were now hers. The girl's lips tasted sweet like candy, and he could faintly trace the flavor of bitter chocolate the two of them snacked on earlier that day. Her kiss, her very touch, calmed him as his eyes closed gently, allowing this feeling to sweep over him and carry him wherever it wished, like a body floating down a river.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, the girl pulled away. The boy did the same, releasing the breath he kept inside him with a loud exhale.

"That went better than I thought it would…" he said retrospectively.

"What did you think was going to happen?" the girl responded, giggling.

"I don't know. I thought I'd end up dead after that."

"You think some pretty funny things, Renton."

The boy moved to go back to his side of the tree house, but the girl placed a hand on his, and her snowy grey eyes pleaded with him to stay, here, close to her. He asked a question, whispering gently in her ear.

"Do you want to keep playing?"

"No," she said quietly. "I'm getting a bit tired of it now."

"What would you have us do, then?"

The girl blushed, but asked a question.

"Did…did you like that?"

"Huh? Well…I mean…"

Her grey eyes looked up to him, welled with emotion and shimmering with the bright hope of a girl who had found a boy that could truly understand her and call her friend. She had to know that what passed between their lips wasn't merely the product of a game, but of something more. What that something more was, she could not comprehend.

"S-sure, I did, Eureka. It felt great. I-I…I never felt anything like that before."

"Neither have I," she admitted, taking his other hand in hers. "That's why…"

"Why what?"

"Why I want you to do it again."

The boy blushed and before he could mount a sophisticated response, her lips pressed to his in a sweet, innocent kiss. Once again, they felt that connection to each other with the gentle touch, overwhelmed by this strange ephemeral feeling that neither could understand. However, both were left desperately wondering what this meant, and how long it could go for. This time, the girl snaked one arm around his neck, begging him to not break away and to keep this connection that gave them both immense joy and pleasure.

"Renton?"

"Hmm?" he mumbled in-between kisses.

"You're my very best friend. You know that, right?"

"And you're mine, too, Eureka."

"We'll always be friends forever, won't we?"

"I promise we will."

Their lips touched again, and nothing more between these two youths, both discovering new and hitherto unknown feelings, needed to be said.

»»»»»

**December 24****th****, 1942**

While Holland and Mikhail chose to make merry this evening in the spirit of Christmas, Renton and Eureka retreated to their old refuge, a leftover from their childhood: the old tree house in the woods, far beyond the city outskirts and beyond the eyes of any personage in the city, be them German or Russian. All the trees except for the fir and pine trees looked like skeletons in the winter with all their leaves fallen off. There was not a sign of life in the woods, whereas in years past Renton and Eureka often saw hares and deer and sometimes wolves. The woods looked more like a winter wasteland with all the snow on the ground. War had changed everything, so much so that even the animals had fled. When they reached the tree house, Renton saw that it had changed little in four years.

The wood had not rotted away, and the paint had not peeled off. The house was still painted a pine green to blend in with the surrounding pine trees and firs. The little makeshift roof had not caved in, as they so often feared it would do when they played in there. The rope they used to climb up was still there, although the color had faded a little. Renton was so glad that little of it had changed.

"It's just the way we left it," Renton reminisced fondly.

"I'm glad that at least one thing hasn't changed from all these years," Eureka added, a small smile telling him feelings of joy.

"So am I. Shall we go up?"

"With pleasure."

Eureka climbed up the rope first, and then Renton followed. When he couldn't grasp the floor of the tree house, Eureka offered him her hand. Renton looked up into Eureka's face.

The expression was one of trust. The eyes said, "Take my hand. Don't be afraid."

Renton placed his hand in hers, and Eureka pulled him up, but Eureka didn't know her own strength; Renton fell on top of Eureka and the two laughed. This had happened so many times before. They rolled around on the floor of the tree house, laughing like they did when they were children. After regaining their composure they sat against the wall, looking around the inside of the tree house.

As Renton lit small candles around the walls, he noticed how it was smaller than they remembered. But of course they had just grown bigger, big enough to touch the other side of the house with their shoes. The small square windows had sliding shutters to lock out the elements, painted an oak brown that showed no signs of fading. The wood showed no signs of age or rotting, as if it was impervious to the passing of years. There was a little photograph of them on one of the walls, taken in the tree house when they were children. It showed them looking down from the hole in the floor where the rope was, smiling broadly and showing their white pearly teeth. They looked so happy then, when there didn't seem to be a care in the world, when people only wanted to live their lives before this awful war.

When will the war finally be over?

When will evil finally be gone?

Renton and Eureka looked at each other, both smiling, happy they were where they once were as children.

"Renton," asked Eureka, "Do you remember when you taught me how to speak English in here?"

"Yes, I do," said Renton. "You have learned well."

Eureka laughed, and so did Renton.

"Eureka, do you remember when we always played 'truth or dare' in here?"

"Yes, I do. You always liked to take a dare."

The two laughed.

Eureka remembered all the kinds of dares Renton did. The one she remembered most clearly is how she dared Renton to kiss her. Renton succeeded in that dare, to her surprise. He kissed her innocently on the lips and as a consequence got a bright red face. Eureka laughed quietly at the thought, and, after a moment of reflection saw this as a moment to ask him the question she so desperately wanted answered. And she knew exactly how to ask it.

"Renton," said Eureka, "Pravda ili vyzov3?"

"Shto?" asked Renton, slightly surprised.

"Pravda ili vyzov?"

"Eureka, we haven't played that in a long time."

"I know, but I want to play it one more time. Poetomu, pravda ili vyzov?"

"Pravda."

Eureka took a deep breath, and in one resolute voice, poured out her repressed desires to him, the ones she had kept locked up for so long, because she only wanted Renton to hear them.

"Renton, I have wanted to escape from this place since the battle started. Remembering you always kept me alive and facing each day, but I don't know how much more of this awful siege I can take. I need your help…please."

"Pravda ili vyzov?" asked Renton, seemingly with something in mind.

"Pravda," responded Eureka.

"Eureka, I came to Russia with one thing in mind and one thing only: to help you and your family in any way I can. I will do whatever I must to help you. Just tell me what to do."

"Renton, pravda ili vyzov?" asked Eureka, now knowing what he was getting at.

Renton thought for a moment.

"Vyzov."

"Renton, take me with you…back to America."

Renton thought for a moment. Of course, he was willing to help his friend any way he could, but what worried him was not getting her out of here in safety. Rather what would happen to her once he got her across the border was what occupied his concerns. She could never survive alone; she's too young. What would he do with her? How would she find a place to live?

He looked straight at Eureka and said, "Eureka, if I take you with me, where will you go? You can't live on your own. You're only 15."

"Renton, I can stay with you. There's nothing wrong with that, is there?"

Renton smiled. How could he have asked such a stupid question? It all made sense to him now.

"No, Eureka. There's nothing wrong with that."

"Then take me with you," said Eureka, grabbing his hand and looking to him with entreating eyes. "Renton, there's nothing left for me here. My home is a pile of rubble and we could die any day. America is the only place I can escape to."

Her eyes started to water. She had been so lonely all these years; the one thing she sought after was the comfort she knew she could find with Renton, the comfort of living free from fear and death. Now, the door seemed almost open. She only needed Renton to help her get away from the graveyard her city had become. Her dreams now seemed to be on the verge of becoming a reality.

Renton slowly turned a smile. He felt her pain. He hated to see her suffer like this, in this battlefield that her home had now become. He could never abandon her, no matter what the risks were. It simply wasn't in him. If helping Eureka meant helping her get out of Russia, then…then…

"Eureka," Renton said in his gentle tone, "how can I deny my help to a friend? If helping you escape is what I must do to help you, then I am willing to risk it."

Eureka gasped and cupped her hands over her mouth. She breathed heavily as her smoldering ashen eyes widened. She couldn't believe it! She thought for sure that, him being the cautious one, he would have misgivings, but this was better than she ever hoped for.

She embraced Renton, crying tears of happiness and hope into his sternum. Renton had saved her…really saved her. She owed him probably her life if she waited a little longer to ask, given the horrible nature of this siege that had dragged on for too long. All that was behind her now. She didn't have to be afraid anymore. Renton always taught her: everything was possible if one believed.

Eureka looked up into Renton's face, his caring, kind face. There were tears in his eyes, too. He had done his good deed, performed his duty to her, his best friend in this death trap. His smile was a small one, contented that he knew in his heart that he was doing the right thing…for her.

Eureka wanted to thank him some way for the enormous risk he was taking. If anything went wrong, he would pay for it with his life; both knew that. She had to show him just how deeply and profoundly this all meant to her, that he may end up dying in a country that was never his…for her.

She knew exactly what to give him.

"Renton," said Eureka, still crying but more composed, "it's your turn."

"Pravda ili vyzov?" he asked, smiling.

Eureka smiled, her lips curled almost seductively in a way Renton had never seen her smile.

"Vyzov," she whispered.

Before Renton could make a decision for a dare, Eureka's lips met his. His lips were dry and thin, but her kiss was slow and warm, healing his lips and healing his soul. Renton was at first taken by surprise, but he slowly settled down and closed his eyes, contently happy at last to feel he had owned up to his promise, and knew now what he must do to relieve her pain.

They both felt their hearts touched by some great unknown force, too grand and mysterious to comprehend, but the touch of their hearts made them move closer to each other by a few more inches. They were both too young to know what this was, but they still reveled in it. They didn't understand what this complex feeling was, but they enjoyed it. It was a feeling of safety at last, joy in each other's company, each never wanting to see the other alone. Renton would always protect Eureka from harm, wherever it may come, and Eureka would always stand by Renton when things looked bleak and support him, whatever happened.

Renton felt at last complete, the madness that had consumed him quelled and peace finally finding a safe comfortable spot in his consciousness. Just as he had found her, he also found this new feeling of being whole with her. What was it? There had to be a way to describe it. There had to be some word for it that would sum all the feelings that were swirling in his soul right now.

_Is this what love is?_

The wind began to howl, and a cold wind whipped through the little tree house, but they did not shiver; they found warmth in each other's arms. They pulled away from each other, Renton quickly closed the shutters, leaving them only in the flickering candlelight. Eureka rested her head on his shoulder as Renton rested his head on the wall of the tree house. He then parted his lips and whispered gently in her ear.

"I almost forgot how sweet your kisses were."

"Only the best for the boy who means so much to me," Eureka giggled, trying to hide her blush from his compliment.

At that moment she felt an inkling of guilt for asking Renton to do something that could easily endanger or even end his life prematurely, especially after having seen him again for only a few days. She had to have his word on the matter. She had to know that he was all right with that prospect.

"Rentoshka?"

"Hmm?"

"I don't want to put you through anything bad for my sake."

"Eurekasha, I am happy to do it," he said, surprised she was already reconsidering.

"It's not that. I'm just…afraid."

"Afraid of what?"

"I'm afraid if we do go through with this, we'll be found out, and you will be subject to some god-awful punishment and I—"

Eureka's words were interrupted by Renton tilting her head up to meet a soft, caring and warm kiss from his thin lips. Any reservations she had about the plan disappeared with his soft touch. He didn't have to say anything more to express how he was alright with meeting his end here prematurely for her, the one person in the world who he knew could understand him, better than anyone. This kiss was all he needed to let her know he felt no qualms with saving her, even if the price of her freedom was his life. Eureka blushed, never expecting to receive one from him, who was always so reticent when it came to matters of the heart, who always seemed so shy in younger years when it came to subjects like promises and oaths. But something about this kiss of his made all her doubts dissipate. If he was bold enough to give her one, then it must mean something.

"Eureka, even if I do die trying to get you out of here, I won't mind it. I'll die happy knowing that I got to see you again…and helped you when you needed it most."

"Ty uveren4, Rentoshka?"

"Ya uveren. Ya obeschayu tebye5, Eurekasha."

"Spasibo, Renton…" Eureka said with a kind smile Renton had not seen in years, "…no…yescho dyelo6…"

"Shto?"

"Kiss me again. I want to make sure I'm not dreaming."

Eureka rested her head on his shoulder again, as Renton bestowed on her another gentle kiss on her temple, which was answered by a soft giggle as the two closed their eyes and fell asleep, still clasping onto each other, and dreaming of life after the disaster that had struck all of them. Never again would they have to remember the horrors all had witnessed. Never again were they to return to the battlefields that had caused them so much pain. Never again. Never again.

»»»»»

**Christmas Day, December 25****th****, 1942**

He woke up early on Christmas Day. He didn't feel cold at all; he had fallen asleep fully clothed with coat and all, with only his hair feeling slightly oily from no refreshing shower. He looked around, trying to get a sense of where he was and what was going on. They were still in the tree house, right where they were when he agreed to help Eureka escape. He hoped to God no one heard him. If anyone did, they were dead. He knew that and she knew that. He tried to get up, but couldn't; Eureka was leaning on him, sleeping peacefully.

She looked so different when she was asleep. Strands of her dark hair covered some of her face from his view. She was dressed in her day clothes, now in tatters from years of abuse and battle. The skirt of her dress was torn away at the knee, exposing her calves, badges of her surviving this siege for so long. Her tightly strapped black boots were showing signs of aging. The bodice of her dress had patches sewn around her bosom, yet more victims from the scourge that had found her homeland. Just looking at her, he knew what she meant when she said she lived a harsh life.

She had become poor, like he was. She suffered every day. The thing that made her life worse than his was the world she lived in. She lived in the void between life and death, in a world where she didn't have the freedom to live the way she wanted, a freedom he had. But after seeing her, seeing Sonia die on the ice, seeing the chaos of battle, and seeing this city one standing ruin, he knew that many were not so fortunate to have the freedoms he often took for granted. His helping her escape was now not just a duty as a friend, but a duty as a fellow human being.

He lifted her up and placed her on the floor carefully, as if handling a newborn baby. She didn't stir, didn't say a word, but continued sleeping. Renton smiled at how nothing seemed to bother her in sleep. Such a strange difference of how so many things in this world upset her. He got up and crawled to the window. He poked his head out and looked around.

It had snowed the night before, and the ground looked like his white bed sheets. All the trees around the house were pines and firs, providing camouflage to hide their little sanctuary from sight. The other trees were little more than skeletons. They swayed in the wind, dancing in the breeze to the tune of Christmas morning. The wind was biting cold, as if one hundred little knives were hitting his face. He shut his eyes tight, when a snowstorm started to come. He pulled his head back inside the safety and relative warmth of the tree house.

He turned to Eureka, still sleeping. They had to move. A snowstorm was fast approaching, and if they stayed where they were, they would surely freeze to death. He placed his hand on Eureka's shoulder and shook her gently, trying to wake her up.

"Eureka…" he whispered in her ear.

She stirred, groaning, and placed her hand over his.

"Renton…" she muttered sleepily.

"We have to get up now, Eureka. A storm's coming."

She rolled over on her side, facing away from Renton. Renton chuckled remembering how often she would do that in their youths, as if to wish away the obligations they had for the coming morning. He spoke the words often uttered to her in their childhoods,

"You can't sleep forever Eureka."

Renton crawled over so that Eureka was facing him. Asleep with her hair sprawled about her on the floorboards, her chest rising and falling gently with each successive breath, her soft pale skin seeming to shine with a heavenly glow, she looked like a doll to him. A beautiful little porcelain doll.

In a momentary lapse of his rationality, Renton felt his senses heighten and different thoughts that even _he_ would blush at race through his mind. She seemed so peaceful, asleep without a single care in the whole world. She seemed so natural, so human when she was asleep. He felt slightly guilty about disturbing her slumber, and wanted to sleep again beside her and perhaps in his sleep he would find her, and they could again feel the joys they once felt in their youths, before the war.

Renton's mouth grew dry as he took in every last inch of her delicate form. From her downy soft brown hair, her gentle angelic face, her soft lips and developing bosom, to her slim sinewy waist and her well-sculpted legs, she seemed a work of art. He felt a lump grow in his throat, and felt a sudden urge to…

Renton did not finish the ungodly thought, somehow managing to recall his rationality to him, and managed to suppress the thoughts that flowed and swirled forever in his mind. He made an effort and moved his hands toward her and slid one under her back. Lifting her up, he planted a soft kiss on her lips, knowing for sure that would arouse her from the sweets of her sleep.

Eureka's eyes soon fluttered open. She smiled upon seeing her dearest friend's face greeting her.

"Good morning, Renton," she said sleepily, "and Merry Christmas."

Renton released her from his hold as Eureka pulled herself up as best she could in the little house. She rubbed her eyes to see Renton putting on his hat with earflaps, tying the ends tightly, and wrapping his scarf securely with a sense of haste.

"We have to get moving Eureka," Renton said with great urgency. "A storm is coming. We'll catch cold if we stay here. The others are probably worried sick about us anyway."

Eureka nodded as Renton climbed down, slowly and steady and as she buttoned up her coat before followed Renton down the rope.

Renton jumped from the rope and landed on his feet in the snow, and looked up to see Eureka still making her way down. Renton soon regretted his decision, as since he stood right below her he had a clear view under her skirt of that which ought to be concealed from him, and promptly turned away with a blush. Thank God she didn't look down, he thought. She would have killed me.

Eureka soon became concerned with what was below as the icy rope was hard to grasp with her delicate gloved hands. Soon she lost her grip and fell from the high tree.

Screaming, she could only hope that this was not the end for her. It could not be, not now before she even made it out of Russia! It could not be, not before she said the things to Renton she so desperately wanted to say to him! It could not be, when there was still a future to look forward to! Not yet! Please, dear God, not yet!

She fully expected to land hard on the snow, but landed on something soft. She expected to land on something solid, but she still could not feel the ground. Perhaps she had died and went to heaven already? How? Not now, not when it was too soon!

Eureka opened her eyes and was greeted by the gentle smile coupled with the amused chuckle of her dearest friend, her one confidant, her one anchor and protector, Renton; he had caught her just before she hit the ground and now held her in his arms, like a prince from a fairy tale carrying a princess away to his noble steed. But it was no fairy tale. It was all too real, and dear God, was she glad that it was a reality.

How could she ever live without the thought of Renton being there always? How could she ever think of a world without him there to catch her whenever she fell? How was such a world possible without this boy?

It wasn't.

It could never exist.

And so without so much as a moment's warning, Eureka quickly linked her arms around Renton's neck and kissed him furiously, more passionately than she ever had ever kissed him before, and she had kissed few times, to her present regret. No matter; she still had plenty of time ahead of her to make up for that.

She released her lips from his after several minutes and said,

"Am I alive or in Paradise?"

"What do you consider Paradise?" Renton asked.

"If your arms are Paradise, I hope I never leave them."

Renton blushed, but laughed, knowing that what words she said were all true. From now on, they would not be separated by oceans or by conflict. This time, when he went home, they would go home together. Never again would they have to part ways.

"Idyom domoi."

"Tak. Domu, k kotopomu my prinadlezhaem.7"

1 What's wrong?

2 Was she pretty?

3 Truth or dare?

4 Are you sure?

5 I swear to you.

6 One more thing.

7 To home, where we belong.


	13. Chapter 13

**Author's Note: When I first wrote the story, some concerns were there wasn't much in the way of conflict, or obstacles stopping Renton and Eureka from escaping Russia. Well going back, I learned their misgivings were not unfounded. So I've heavily edited those entries concerning the escape, most notably people's attempts to stop them. Another concern I heard from some others is how Eureka seemed too young to have romantic feelings towards Renton, her being only 14. That will be edited by the time of the entry after this one to retain continuity. With that, read on, enjoy, and please review. We're entering the final stretch.**

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen**

**December 26****th****, 1942**

Deep in the ruins of the city, near a small square where the major roads came together, a soldier solemnly plodded through the snow, leading two others in a trek. To where? None of them could tell. All they knew was one false step could mean the death of all of them. The one leading was a boy of 17, with earthen brown hair and matching eyes. On his uniform he had the collar insignia of a sergeant, though he hardly looked fit for such a position. The two men that followed him were somewhat older, in their mid 20s, but in their eyes there was a cry that asked for a better leader to follow.

All the while, he grumbled to himself about what had come to pass between him and the American. He was humiliated by his hand, right before the eyes of the Koslov family. To him it was a punishment worse than death, simply because he felt it so many times before.

Throughout the first visit, he and the American always clashed, and although they never came to fisticuffs, he always left with a stinging feeling in his soul, as if the American had plunged a knife into his heart and twisted it. He had to get back at him, somehow.

"Comrade Sergeant…" said one of the soldiers.

"Don't start with me, Karataev," the sergeant snapped back. "I'm not in the mood."

"Sorry, sir."

The soldiers entered a run-down office building, but the sergeant shooed the enlisted men away. This was a meeting for officers and non-commissioned officers only. According to the sergeant anyway. The soldiers were content to stand guard and wait, as the sergeant met with his fellow noncoms. The meeting was headed by the leader of his company. A Ukrainian man with matted flaxen hair, dissecting grey eyes and a long scar on his cheek from a battle wound.

"Dobroye utro, tovarischi," he greeted, trying in vain to hide his Ukrainian dialect.

"Dobroye utro, Kapitan," the sergeant and officers returned.

The captain asked the officers and noncoms to gather around a map of the city and surrounding area, so he could better explain the situation to them. Their prospects were looking up just from eyeing the lines drawn all over the map.

"As you know, comrades," the captain explain, pointing to the map, "we've managed to draw a ring around the fascists. We have the chance to break the backs of the 6th Army right here and now…"

The captain went on, but the sergeant could only think of revenge, of getting even, and putting that American upstart in his place. Who was he to think he could waltz into the city, as if nothing had happened? What manner of a naive child must he be to still think those emotions of compassion, of respect, of kindness held any water in a world that had forgotten such words? What compelled him to show sympathy and spare him, _his rival_, when this world had shown none?

He grumbled in his head, thinking of all the things he could do to get back at him. What pleasure he could derive from torturing him in the most excruciating way! Send him to the Gulag. Accuse him of being a spy and have him tried and shot. Take away the girl he loved most.

The girl entered his thoughts, that stupid child as naive as the American was. That girl who had been raped, beaten, and disowned by this world that knew only war, cruelty and hatred. How could she even see herself with such a deceiving bourgeois like him? If ever they crossed paths again, he would make it known to her how he was no good. He was not worthy. He would do it even if he had to kill the American.

He figured the perfect revenge: outshine him on the battlefield. Always since he came, he had been overshadowed, cast in the dark while the American had the spotlight. The sergeant had always just been a lowly foot soldier, relegated to the position of death. He would trade everything for an instant of fame. His rivalry with the American, his upcoming promotion, his life here in Stalingrad when the war is done and over, he would give it all away for one moment of glory.

The captain recalled him to the time of here and now when he banged his fist on the table, coming over the large hill that overlooked the entire city.

"Our orders will be to take and hold Mamaev Kurgan."

A bead of sweat ran down his face as he realized he had been daydreaming about such things as revenge and bloodlust as the captain had expounded to them all the reasons for this meeting. If he even caught on the slightest hint that he hadn't been paying the slightest bit of attention, he was as good as dead.

"Do you have any questions or concerns?"

The sergeant stayed silent, hoping someone else would ask a question that would answer the myriad amount he had with regards to the plan.

"Captain Pavlenko," spoke up one bright-eyed lieutenant, "until we hear from our comrades in the north, what do we do until then?"

"Continue to gain lost ground, comrade lieutenant. Keep training your men and keep them alive for God's sake."

"Then it's going to be a hard two weeks…"

Two weeks? That would give him more than enough time to plan his revenge on the American. Two weeks and he would be out of the picture, and he would be forgotten. He smiled inwardly as the meeting was brought to a close and all personnel were dismissed.

After emerging from the apartment building, the sergeant ordered his two cohorts to follow while he relayed the details of the meeting.

"You didn't hear it from me, but the upper brass is planning a major offensive in conjunction with our allies to the north."

"What do you mean sir?" asked Karataev.

"What I mean is in two weeks we'll be assaulting Mamaev Kurgan."

"If that's true," said the other soldier his voice failing to hide his jubilance, "then we'll be able to split the German Army in two. We can end this battle right quick!"

"So we shall, Alekseev, so we shall. That is, once I've attended to bigger business."

"Bigger business, sir?"

The sergeant looked to Alekseev, as if he had asked the stupidest question in the world.

"You know, surely, Alekseev. I have a Yankee pipsqueak to take care of before this battle is over."

Karataev sighed exhaustedly, as if he had heard this so many times from him.

"This again? Is it so necessary to get even with a person you haven't seen in four years, comrade Sergeant?"

"And who asked you anything?" the sergeant barked. "But what the hell? I'm in a generous mood, so I'll indulge: Yes. Yes it is. That bourgeois Yank needs to know his place! Sorry you're not so committed to the socialist ideal to let that thought sink in."

"It's not a matter of me believing in socialism or not, sir. It's a matter of you being out of line."

The sergeant stopped and his chocolate brown eyes filled with the fires of rage. If he were not in control of his senses, he had a good mind to wring Karataev's neck for speaking such insubordination.

"You think I'm being out of line, do you?! Well what do _you_ have to say on the matter, Karataev? Regale me; I'm all ears!"

At that moment, Alekseev interjected, speaking a nugget of truth that made the sergeant stare at him incredulously.

"One of the NCOs told me you hold a grudge against him because he's hung up on a girl you knew four years ago. Don't you think he deserves a little more respect than what you give him? A lot more, in fact?"

The sergeant felt an insuppressible urge to kill this man who dared question him. If he had his way, he could easily put a bullet between his eyes, and it would serve as a warning to Karataev or anyone else who thought they could question him. However, he had a better alternative.

"Could I speak with you privately for a moment, Alekseev?"

The sergeant dragged Alekseev by his collar over to one side, far enough away from Karataev so he would be out of earshot. He narrowed his eyes, sending a thousand sharp knives Alekseev's way.

"Would you kindly explain what the hell _that_ was?"

Alekseev tilted his head, not quite understanding.

"Me raising a valid point?"

"K chyortu s vami y vashei deistvityelnostyei1! You ever bring it up again, and I will discharge you so fast your head will drop off, and then I will boot it a thousand kilometers into your homosexual father's asshole! That's not to say you would be an irretrievable loss to this army; you have only fired your gun once in this whole battle and didn't even kill a German; you killed a dog for food! Either way, you're still a goddamned disgrace!"

Alekseev said nothing, but only listened to the sergeant raving away, hardly looking the picture of a disciplined soldier hardened by endless battle. In secret he wished he could put a bullet through his mouth to shut him up, but like anyone with a right mind, he suppressed that desire, only looking to him blankly like a child wondering what he had done wrong.

"But you enjoy serving your country," the sergeant finished, mockingly. "You want to accomplish something to be proud of, bring honor to your family, right?"

Silence. He could tell Alekseev didn't even feel dignified enough to give a response.

"ANSWER ME, YOU BASTARD!"

"…Da."

"So you understand."

"Da, ya ponimayu2. I promise I won't bring it up again. Sorry, sir."

The sergeant smiled smugly, and they broke apart, rejoining formation in walking back to whence they came. However, the sergeant was much quicker and livelier in his step as the two soldiers trudged on behind him.

"Well, it was fun dragging you two around for another conference, but your NCO has to get to work!"

"Like homework?" Karataev muttered under his breath sarcastically.

"No…well, maybe in a way. All I have to say to you is: enjoy the fighting while you still can, comrades, because the end of this battle is really nigh."

With that he walked away, spinning on his heel nonchalantly as if nothing had passed between him and the soldiers. The sergeant could only think of what would pass between him and the American when they would inevitably cross paths again. He would get back at all of them. He would make the American pay dearly.

**December 27****th****, 1942**

Christmas Day had come and gone, but there was no celebration between Renton and Eureka; their time to leave was fast approaching.

The biggest problem facing them both was exactly how to get out of the country safely. One didn't simply walk out and emigrate from the Soviet Union; there were border patrols everywhere, and checkpoints as tight as a miser's purse. To escape unharmed, they would need to be discreet, and silent. Renton wracked his brain all of yesterday and all of this day wondering what they could do to break out, considering all options and tossing them out as inadequate. Eureka saved him from further frustration when she mentioned a group of people who could help them.

"There's a band of partisans in the city," she said quietly, always looking over her shoulder in fear of someone catching wind. "They primarily work with the Red Army in fighting the Germans, but they help citizens escape as well."

"How can I contact them?"

"You can find them at this address."

She took out a scrap of paper, scribbled the address and shoved it in Renton's hand.

"I'm relying on you to destroy it."

Renton nodded, and walked out the door of the flat and towards the address indicated on the paper. It was an abandoned cafe, whose windows had been broken and the door blown off the wall. He walked in and saw not a living soul to be found, only empty chairs and tables. The signs of a time that had since flown away like a feather in the wind. Once upon a time, this place buzzed with the conversations of family, friends and lovers. No longer. His steps echoed as he approached the bar of the cafe, expecting not to find anyone in this relic of a simpler time long gone.

"A-Allo? Y-yest' zdes' kto-nibud'?"

For some reason, the walls seemed to have ears. Words easily carry, to Russians as well as to Germans. He gently knocked on the wood of the bar, hoping someone would answer him, and give him the assistance he and Eureka so desperately needed. He then heard footsteps, but could not tell where. Preparing for the worst, Renton readied his rifle and shifted the bolt, bringing a new round into the chamber. One could not easily tell what land was allied and what land was held by the enemy. Then a deep masculine voice called.

"You look rather young for someone who needs a drink."

He turned around and had his finger on the trigger, only to find a bartender wiping a glass, waiting for customers that had long since gone. He was a man in his mid-30s, heavy-set with a pair of horn-rimmed glasses magnifying his bright blue eyes. He didn't seem to be a person one could classify as an enemy, and so Renton approached him, shouldering his rifle.

"I'm looking for someone."

"Found someone, more like," the bartender laughed. "What brings you here, molodoi chelovyek3?"

"I'm here for a friend…and was told there are people here who can help her."

The bartender raised an eyebrow in suspicion, as if he knew what Renton meant by that. He removed his glasses and wiped them with a clean white rag, untouched by dirt, dust and blood. He leaned in, and asked Renton to do the same. The walls _did_ have ears, and it was all too easy for one lead to get out. Everything was secret, even meeting new potential recruits.

"Who told you that you could find us here?" asked the bartender quietly.

"I'd rather not give myself away," said Renton hesitantly.

"Anyone I would know?"

"Well, I have a picture of her."

He pulled out a photograph of Eureka from his coat pocket and showed it to the bartender. It was an old photograph, a preserved image of the past that had so quickly fled. Dated November of 1941, the photograph was an attachment sent from one of her many correspondences with him in that time when nothing was certain. The image was not of a girl who exuded cheer, happiness and joy, but rather a girl held in a grip of anxiety, disquiet, and fear.

"Do you know her?"

"Dа," he said at once. "She comes here sometimes. She has…connections."

Renton nodded, though he didn't understand quite what he meant.

"Do you know where they are? I'd like to talk with them."

"Dа. I need you to put on this blindfold, however. They have to keep their location a secret."

"Of course," said Renton, grimly.

The bartender wrapped a blindfold around Renton's eyes in a turban-like fashion. Renton then felt the bartender grab his shoulders and lead him in the direction of the hideout. He heard a creak of a door, and he stumbled his way down a flight of stairs. Five minutes had passed before the blindfold was removed.

He was in a dark room with a single light bulb hanging from the ceiling. There was a table in the middle of the room with maps and documents spread across. Immediately in front of him was a boy his age, with windswept black hair and shining bright blue eyes. A boy he never expected to see in this of all palces.

Holland. The caring middle brother. The practical joker. The dependable, trustworthy friend that always tried tirelessly to force him and Eureka together.

Now he was here, in a position as close to death as one could ever get without putting on a uniform. But at the same time, he seemed so out of place here. Always in Eureka's letters, she relayed how Holland and Mikhail refused to take up arms and leave her alone in the flat to face certain death. How was it he had come to here, the position of death and sin?

"Rentoshka," said Holland quietly, "I thought you might come."

"Holland," Renton asked, confused, "why are you fighting with the partisans?"

Holland laughed as if that question was one he himself asked from time to time.

"I sometimes wonder myself," he said with a bemused grin. "I didn't think I would be fighting after so much."

"So what drove you?"

Holland motioned Renton to pull up a chair across from him. Renton promptly did so and sat down as Holland explained.

"When war came," Holland began with a sigh, "I resolved to stay home rather than go off into battle like Dewey and Volodya. Mikhail also chose to stay, since we both agreed it would not be right to leave Eureka to fend for herself here. So for a long while it was just us in the flat. That is, until September came."

"That was when the Germans attacked the city," Renton recounted.

"Da, and that was when everything changed. When the Germans attacked, I could no longer take standing on the sidelines, especially when the fascists were practically knocking at our door. I picked up my rifle and joined the nearest group of soldiers I could find, while trying to lead Eureka and Mikhail back to the flat safely. One thing led to another, and now, here I am."

"How long have you been involved with the partisans?"

"About two months now," Holland said, counting on his fingers. "Does that answer your questions?"

"I guess," Renton said, slightly concerned.

He feared, at least based on what Holland had told him, that this may be one of the last talks he would ever have with Holland, the kind middle brother. Now that he was in the partisans, he ran the risk of death as well, not to mention the path to madness Renton himself had taken a few steps on.

"I'm sure you know the risks involved with resistance, Holland."

"That doesn't matter to me," Holland retorted with resolve, fire burning in his grayish blue eyes. "I will always defend my home. The risks don't make any difference."

"I stand in line with you and your cause, Holland, but I'm only concerned for what may happen."

At that, Holland laughed, as if the odds of him dying were a million to one.

"I've lasted two months. And the Germans have to give up soon, now that they are surrounded. I think I'll manage a little while longer. Now tell me, my friend, why have you come?"

Renton gulped nervously. He was afraid that what he will say may turn Holland against him, as it could easily be seen as Renton trying to wrench Eureka away from her remaining family. However, when he remembered the promise he made to her to get her out of this country, any notion of fear dissipated as quickly as it came.

"Eureka wishes to leave," he said firmly.

"I thought as much," Holland responded, knowingly.

"You know?" Renton asked, surprised that Holland had not flown into a rage almost immediately.

"Konyeshna4. I can tell the way she sleeps so calmly with you at night."

Renton was puzzled.

"What do you mean?"

"Before, she could never get through a full night without waking up in tears. She told me often how she wanted to see you."

Renton didn't press the matter any further, knowing he had Holland in his corner. He went straight to the point.

"You'll help us, then?"

"How can I deny help to my sister?"

Renton smiled, happy knowing there was some hope left for the family. The war had not killed everything.

"What do you need from me, Renton?" Holland asked kindly.

"Is there any way we can get across the border safely?"

"Not legally. You can move easily since you're a foreigner, but Eureka can't move at all; you'll be running into border patrols. If you're really intent on getting her out, she'll have to do it illegally."  
"What do you suggest, Holland?"

"She needs a means of getting past the border patrols safely. In a word, a fake ID and passport."

"Can you make one for us?"

"It wouldn't be the first time," said Holland, evidently coming from experience. "Do you have a photograph we could use?"

Renton pulled out the photograph of Eureka and gave it to Holland. He looked it over and nodded. He knew he was doing the right thing for Eureka and Renton, especially considering how Eureka and Renton were…

He quickly awoke himself from his momentary daze and came back to reality.

"This will do," he said.

"When can you have it?" asked Renton, anxiously.

"Come back in two and a half hours, and they'll be ready. When do you plan on leaving?"

"As soon as we can. Tonight, if possible."

"Good. When you leave, keep quiet and just show the ID at every checkpoint. As long as you do that, you'll be alright."

Renton nodded and started to leave.

"Renton," Holland called.

Renton turned around and looked to Holland, brave Holland, caring Holland, in his kind eyes. When he first arrived in Russia, Holland along with Mikhail were joking fun-loving brothers, but now he along with the others had grown up. Like so much else that changed with the coming of war, that innocent side had been swept away. They were forced to live in a battlefield, and had grown hard. One thing that hadn't changed was Holland had never let the violence consume him and change him. That much, Renton could tell.

Holland smiled. He then raised his right hand, so his arm formed a right angle, and contracted his hand into a fist.

"Death to fascism!" he said.

Renton repeated this salute and said in return, somewhat hesitantly, "Death to fascism!"

The blindfold was put over Renton's eyes and he was led up the stairs back to the bar. The blindfold was removed, and he saw the fat bartender once more.

"Do svidaniya, tovarisch5," he said with a smile, "and glory to Stalin!" he then winked his left eye.

"Glory to Stalin," said Renton, who winked in return.

He walked out the door back to the flat and to Eureka.

»»»»»

When he returned, he found the door hanging by one hinge, undoubtedly from a stray shell. He carefully tried to open the door, but it immediately fell off the hinge with a thud. He need not have called out his name, as the sound from the door heralded his arrival.

"Eureka, I'm back," he called out.

Eureka came running through the hall and stopped short of running into Renton.

"Did you contact them?" she asked hastily.

"Dа. Holland will have everything for us in about two and a half hours. That'll give us some time to get ready," he said calmly. "Get what you need and only what you need. We'll be leaving soon."

"Yes, Renton."

Eureka motioned to go to her room to pack, when Renton called to her.

"Eureka."

She turned around slowly, looking over her shoulder into his dark green piercing eyes, heavy with concern and an undertone of fear.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked.

"Rentoshka, look around you," said Eureka, decisively. "There's nothing left for me here. My home is destroyed, and we're all starving! I want to live with the safety you and so many others enjoy!"

"I'm just concerned for how this will play out, Eureka."

"Renton, when I'm with you, I know we can do anything," said Eureka softly, drawing closer to him.

"If this is really what you want…"

Eureka was now inches away from him, her thoughts veering off into territory she had not since tread.

_Dear Renton. My comrade. My one true friend. My Renton._

"It is. I know it is," she whispered as her lips met his.

Her kiss was warm, like the air in the summer. Her gentle touch seemed to heal his cold thin lips.

His heart stirred again, touched with great unforeseen force that neither he nor she could hope to understand. He felt their souls connect for a few moments more, and wondered what this strange stirring of the heart was, this feeling of wholeness, the gap in his heart closed, the madness quelled and his soul at peace. Renton blushed with embarrassment, and wanted to pull away, but she wrapped one arm around his neck, pulling him further in and making this shared kiss sweeter. He wanted to say something, but could not, as she slowly released her lips from his and looked to him as if asking a reluctant commander to lead.

Renton looked into Eureka's grey eyes, welled up with pupils dilated. Now that he had found her again, he wondered if this was truly the route they should travel. Once they took the next step there would be no turning back. He pressed her close to him, secretly wishing there was some other means that this dangerous business could be done, but he knew as well as any that there was no other way.

"If things go wrong," he whispered gently, "I want you to know I have no regrets for any of this."

He left the hall to gather things up for his small briefcase, leaving Eureka alone. Eureka felt the great burden in his heart still linger as he left her there, standing and wondering whether to take the first step.

She didn't think too hard to make the choice she felt was right.

Eureka walked into her room, and pulled out a suitcase from under the chest of drawers. It was an old brown beat-up thing that once belonged to her father before he left. He gave it to her, telling her that whenever a time came that she needed to flee, use it. The time had come.

She pulled out drawers to take out clothing. She wanted to take all she could; she wasn't planning on coming back. She wished to stay with Renton. It was something she had been set on for a very long time…ever since the siege began, and it felt that Mother Russia could no longer offer comfort.

As she continued sorting out clothes, she found a dress that stood out to her: aqua blue with white frills around the edges. She wore it on the day she met Renton. She smiled and with a whimsical feeling of nostalgia pressed the dress tightly to her bosom and sighed longingly. She remembered that day so well.

She had come back from playing in the woods with Holland and Mikhail when Vladimir came up with a boy who looked to be about twelve. The boy was very handsome. He had light brown hair and striking, piercing light grass green eyes. The eyes always had a magnetizing effect; she wanted to pull away but couldn't. Those eyes wouldn't let her. He was about her height, a head shorter than Vladimir. He was wearing a brown patched vest and grey knickerbockers with argyle socks and a plain white button-down shirt.

Vladimir introduced him to her, saying he was an American travelling with his father. Due to engine trouble on their ship, they were stuck in Stalingrad for three weeks, and he would be staying with them. Eureka nodded, although she didn't really understand. Renton cautiously walked up to her, saying with a slight quiver of nervousness,

"Z-zdrastvuitye6."

"Zdrastvui," she returned, shaking his hand as one would a guest to the home.

"Why don't you go play with Eureka, Renton?" Vladimir said, smiling at Renton, who seemed (and probably felt) out of place. "I'll catch up with you later."

Renton and Eureka nodded and walked together into the woods.

Ever since that day, he was her best friend. He was the only one she could rely on, depend on, count on, and confide in. She loved him like she did her brothers. Her one true friend was him.

She sighed again, fondly remembering all the wonderful times they had during those days when happiness seemed plausible, and when the sun always shined. Her thoughts wandered from the past and into the future, pondering and dreaming what will become of the two of them in their lives, now intertwined by fate. What future escapades lay in wait for them, once they leave this land of ice and snow and settle again, across the steppes and the vast Pacific beyond?

»»»»»

**Two and a half hours later**

Renton returned to the café and saw the fat bartender. Renton called to him and the bartender came closer.

"Were you followed?" asked the bartender softly under his breath.

"No," he said with certainty. "I'm sure. Is everything ready?"

"Da. I must ask you to put this blindfold on. Then I will take you to them. No one can know where we are."

"Of course," said Renton gravely.

The blindfold was wrapped around his eyes, and he felt the bartender grab his shoulder and lead him down the stairs. The blindfold was removed and there stood Holland holding a card. He looked very tired. He had dark circles around his bluish-grey eyes and his hands were dirty. There was a pistol at his side, which he could break out at any moment in the event someone discovered them. Renton smiled inside. He was the same age as Renton, and he was now the leader of an entire resistance! He had become quite a man.

"Do you have it?" Renton asked intently.

"Dа," Holland answered immediately. "Here it is: name, age, date of birth, country of origin, everything."

Renton took the fake ID and looked it over. She now had a false name: Diane Smith. Holland had done well.

"This is good. I almost forgot I was looking at a fake ID."

Holland laughed and patted his old friend on the shoulder. He knew he was doing the right thing for his sister. Now she could be happy in America with him. He will miss her, but she'll be safe there.

"You know," said Renton, "you can come with us if you want."

How like him to say that, Holland thought. Such a kind thing to offer; he knew Renton was trying to be a good friend, but he had big shoes to fill here. Besides, he had his brother to take care of. And it wouldn't be right for his father to come back and find the home empty.

"Thank you, Renton, but my place is here with my family, and the partisans. Maybe after the war is over and when peace returns, I'll come."

"Are you sure? I don't want to leave you in the lurch here."

"You're not. Believe me. Besides, I can't leave my men. Who will look after them if I left?"

"You're right. You're right," said Renton, laughing. "I appreciate everything you've done, Holland. Maybe, if things ever _do_ change, we'll come back."

"We certainly would like to have you," said Holland with a smile.

Renton smiled back and the two gave each other a strong embrace and a Russian kiss as a last valediction.

"Goodbye, Holland," said Renton, the sadness building up inside him.

"Farewell, Renton. You better get going. The train will leave soon."

"I know. Thank you, Holland, for everything."

"It's no trouble, Renton. The least I can do for a friend."

The two smiled, and the bartender was about to place the blindfold on Renton when Holland told him to hold. He had one last thing to say.

"Renton, take good care of her. She's your responsibility now."

"I will, Holland. I promise."

Holland's smile was the last thing Renton saw as the blindfold was placed over his eyes. He was grabbed by the shoulder and led back up the stairs to the café. The blindfold was removed and there was the burly bartender, wiping a mug.

"Goodbye, comrade," he said, as if nothing ever happened, "and Hail Stalin!"

"Hail Stalin!" Renton returned with a wink.

He left the café and headed back for the apartment to take Eureka with him to catch the next train heading to Vladivostok.

1 To hell with you and your validity!

2 Yes, I understand.

3 Young man.

4 Of course.

5 Goodbye, comrade,

6 Russian for "hello." (formal)


	14. Chapter 14

**Author's Note: When I wrote the original fiction, there wasn't much in the way of escape. Renton and Eureka simply left the city with little to no opposition. After going back and doing research, I realize now they would have encountered a great deal of opposition, as the Soviet Union had tight border security for most of its existence. Strict regulations were placed on movement and immigration, and the most noticeable being barring citizens from travelling to anywhere outside the Soviet sphere on influence, i.e. the United States and the West. So this chapter, and the ones left that will follow, are concerning the escape from Russia by Renton and Eureka. And they meet some resistance right at the beginning. Read on, enjoy, and leave a review if you can.**

* * *

**Chapter Fourteen**

**That night**

Under the cover of a dark snowy night, two figures left the Novikov household, heading towards the train station now under firm control of the Soviets, and to freedom. One was a boy of about 16 with brown hair and piercing green eyes, wearing a black overcoat, matching wool trousers tucked into black boots and a dark brown fur hat. Next to him was a girl of about 15 with dark wavy hair and snow grey eyes, wearing a light blue winter dress with white leggings and matching boots topped with a snow white fur hat. They had said their goodbyes to Holland and Mikhail and were only intent on leaving. Nothing else really mattered. Nothing except escape.

They left during the cold night, when the temperature was almost 30 below freezing. There was not a single soul out on the streets that night, and all was dead quiet except for the occasional "pop-pop-pop" of gunfire and distant booming of artillery.

Eureka held tightly to Renton's coat sleeve, her eyes darting around fearing that someone would catch them, as Renton led her cautiously through the streets, a TT-33 pistol in his pocket and his Mosin-Nagant rifle on his back. All seemed quiet on this winter night, but on one side of the street…

A young soldier with decadent chocolate brown eyes watched the two figures pass. Behind him were three other uniformed men carrying pistols and submachine guns. On each of their hats was pinned the insignia of the Interior Ministry. The NKVD1.

"That's them. The ones we're after," said the soldier. "All right, comrades. Follow me."

They slowly crept up to the street corner, not attracting the attention of the two lone figures walking through the night. A bearded man peeked out from the corner of a building and eyed them from their backs. He raised his pistol and was about to shoot them but the soldier stopped them, saying it was not yet time to engage. As they traversed from one side of the street to the other, the soldier contemplated just what he was setting in motion would bring.

To bring the death of a hero would have severe consequences for him and for the war effort, but at the same time, he could not let a breakout attempt go forward unchecked. He tried to find a solution as he led his men forward slowly creeping up behind Renton and the girl next to him. They reached an alleyway and told two men to stack up against the wall and wait for the signal as he and one other man went around to confront him from the front.

Eureka kept looking around, frightened that something would happen or that something would find them and stop them. Renton however knew that in order to get out alive, they had to maintain their cover and above all, remain calm.

"Just a little longer, okay?"

"I'll…I'll try."

"You'll try what?" said a voice from nowhere.

Renton pulled out his pistol and looked around.

"Who said that?"

"Why I did of course…"

With that the soldier stepped out of the darkness in front of him along with his accomplice. Renton recognized who this man was.

"Chertov…"

The soldier chortled malignantly as he wiped his uncontrolled brown hair to one side.

"My, how the tables have turned, Thurston. Who would have guessed that you, a hero of the Soviet Union, a symbol of support from the West, would be caught like this."

Chertov looked down at the little 15-year-old girl hiding behind him, fear in her grey eyes. His lips contorted into a twisted smile.

"And how is your girlfriend?" Renton blushed and scowled, trying to keep his cover.

"I don't know what you're talking about…"

Chertov laughed, seeing through his lie.

"Don't play dumb, Thurston. I know what's going on. I received reports from the NKVD about an attempt by two people to flee the country to America…and your name was mentioned…"

Renton's eyes widened. How could he possibly have known? Holland and the others in the resistance guaranteed no one would know, and the plan was foolproof. Yet here was Chertov, staring him down with malicious intent, threatening to crush everything before it even started.

"What? No! I'm just returning home!"

"Then why is Eureka Petrovna holding onto you so tightly?"

Renton was silent as Chertov cocked his pistol.

"We know what you plan to do. Now give up and I'm sure we can work something out together."

"I'm sorry, but I can't do that. I promised Eureka I would help her and that is what I am doing."

Chertov's eyes flared with anger and surprise. How could the hero of an entire people be engaging in such seditious acts? How could a hero even think of doing this? And why?

"_This_ is your way of helping? Encouraging dissension? Inciting mutiny against the state? What kind of hero are you? You've been the inspiration to continue the struggle, to believe in our allies, to fight on for Stalin and the Motherland! And now you go and do this, help a girl turn her back on her country!"

"NYET!" Eureka screamed, a stone-cold glare in her grey eyes. "I don't want to be a part of this country anymore! It's because of Renton that I am able to see what kind of world this is, a world where we live in fear of dying in the street from a shell or bullet, even the bullets of our own soldiers!"

Chertov's brown eyes flamed at her, striking into her soul for her seemingly spoiled attitude.

"You dare speak in such a manner?! You want your whole family to be shot, to lose their privileges?! What gave your family the clothes on your backs, the home you live in, the food you eat and your very lives? All of those, our country and Comrade Stalin have given to you! YET YOU DARE SPEAK SUCH FOOLISHNESS TO ME?!"

Enraged, Renton pointed his TT-33 pistol at Chertov, which prompted his accomplice to raise his submachine gun at him and the two men to come out of hiding and aim their pistols at the two figures from behind. Renton looked around and could see that this wasn't the best situation to be in. One false move and they would be dead before even leaving the city. He continued to talk Chertov into letting them go, even though he surely knew it would do them no good.

"I don't want to shoot you, Chertov. Let us pass and there'll be no fuss."

Chertov remained firm, not once changing the hard, lifeless expression on his face.

"I have my orders, Thurston. You are not to leave while accompanying a native citizen. If you release her, we will let you both go unharmed."

"And what happens to _me_?!" Eureka choked out, tears growing. "Ilya, can't you see what our home has become? Don't you understand that there's nothing left now? Where else can I go? What else can I do?!"

"What happens to you, Eureka Petrovna, is neither my concern nor in my business to care. What I _do_ care about is you abandoning your country for some kulak Yank you haven't seen in four years! What can he offer you? What does his country have to provide you that we have not?!"

"Safety," she responded, her voice unbending like steel. "Comfort. Happiness. Compassion. Things I know you don't understand, Ilya, and never will."

Renton felt his hand squeezed by Eureka in fear, and Renton responded by wrapping his arm around her shoulder, pulling her in and kissing her on the cheek.

"Where I go," he vowed, "there she goes also. I'm not leaving her, not so soon after I got her back."

Chertov chuckled, seeing sights like this before from them.

"Young love is so beautiful…" he said in a sarcastic tone.

Renton stared him down with the hardest glare he could muster, in a vain attempt to frighten him into letting them go.

"We're _going_ to pass you, Chertov," he said sternly.

Chertov only laughed and aimed his pistol at Renton's stomach.

"Try. I'll shoot you…and I'll get a medal for it."

Renton looked around and saw that he was surrounded. It looked to be impossible to get out of, but looking closely, he spotted a way to get out of this, a way to break through. Renton took Eureka by the hand and placed her near the wall of a building and whispered in her ear, low enough so that only she could hear it,

"Things are about to get messy. Stay here, and don't look."

He slowly walked up to Chertov, placing his pistol in his pocket and looking straight into Chertov's brown eyes, the eyes of a man with whom he always was at odds, for no discernible reason. He always viewed him as the "other," calling his friendships with the children into question, always waxing political about how he had an ulterior motive. Even though Renton surely knew that Chertov could not be swayed, he still had to try. For Eureka.

"Chertov…please let us go through."

Chertov's eyes narrowed, still remaining firm.

"Why should I?"

Renton then looked to Eureka frozen with fear in her ashen eyes.

Why _should_ they go through to the station? Why _should_ they escape? Why _should_ he have come out here, far beyond the comfort and safety of his home across the ocean to risk his life for someone he had not even seen in four years? What drove him across the steppes, over the frozen river and through the blood-soaked streets to here? Why did he choose to help her, when he surely knew death was inevitable for him?

What was it that always stirred in his heart whenever their lips met, that immeasurable feeling that always overtook his soul that told him it was better like this with her?

All these questions sped through his head, and somewhere along the way of finding a reason, a word came to him.

It came as quietly as a mouse, but it spoke to him with the force of a lion's roar. It was a simple word, but it was a powerful one. It was a word that men such as him constantly fought for, and it was what the Allies fought for now. It was what the evils they faced today were striving to destroy, and it was what people like he swore to protect. With that knowledge gained and his heart at ease, he calmly gave his answer.

"Because I love her," Renton said quietly, hoping to God she didn't hear him.

Chertov laughed haughtily.

"And I thought you would never admit it. I must say you impress me."

"I love her more than anything on this earth. Please…have a heart, Chertov."

"I'm a soldier, now, Thurston; I don't believe in those pretty words anymore. Did you forget? What compels me to feel compassion when this world shows none? Do you really think our enemies will listen to your infantile pap?"

"And I told _you_," Renton said, his voice hard as steel, "that it doesn't matter whether it is in peace or war. We're all still human, and humans have dignity."

"I may have dignity…my comrades may have some shred of dignity…but _you_, on the other hand…"

Chertov eased his boot onto Renton's foot, pressing hard as if to remind him he was in control now.

"…you, I am not so certain."

"And what about Eureka?" Renton retorted, the anger simmering in his voice. "Doesn't she have dignity? Are you really so heartless to suggest that she doesn't deserve one bit of sympathy for her situation?"

Chertov looked to her with the mistrust and suspicion of a lizard eyeing a passing insect, and snorted coldly.

"I used to think she had dignity…until you came along."

Renton looked back and nodded to her, and Eureka shut her eyes. Renton then turned back to Chertov and said, with a small wistful smile on his face,

"I see. If that is truly what you believe, then I can do nothing for you. Forgive me, Ilya Pavlovich."

Acting quickly, he grabbed his Mosin-Nagant and swung it like a club across his face, knocking him out in one blow. He then turned to his accomplice with the submachine gun who was about to fire and pulled the trigger of the rifle, blowing a hole through his head. Finally he heard the cocking of pistols behind him and turned to see two policemen raising their TT-33 pistols at him. He quickly pulled out his own pistol and shot both of them through the head one after the other, killing them instantly.

Renton than ran to Eureka and grabbed her by the hand, leading her down to an intersection.

"Davaitye2, let's get out of here before Chertov comes to."

Eureka refused to open her eyes as Renton tugged her to follow him. Renton had told her before that he had killed Germans, and she saw him fight with Chertov before, but she never saw him take another man's life. But she certainly heard it, and hearing it was enough to freeze her where she was, utterly shocked that her dearest friend had embarked down a road one could never return from.

"Renton…did you…did you just…?"

"It doesn't matter now! We have to go!"

Eureka seemed to resist him as he pulled her to a street corner, several blocks away from the station. Renton turned to her and saw that she was hiding her face away from him.

"Eureka, look at me."

No response came from her.

"LOOK AT ME!"

Eureka looked up into his stern piercing green eyes with her frightened snow grey.

"I had to do it to protect you. They would have taken you away and you would continue to live the life you have now. Is that what you wanted?"

Eureka shook her head, hesitantly. Of course it wasn't what she wanted, but it didn't take away from the shock.

"I didn't want to do it, but I will protect you no matter what. I gave my word to help you, and I intend to keep it. Now let's go before more of them show up."

Eureka nodded as she was pulled by Renton through the streets and towards the station, not caring about what was behind them. Their prime concern was getting to the station alive.

_Nothing matters right now. Just get to the station. Then you and Eureka will be home free._

They ran, never looking back, never looking around them but only on what was in front of them. Then voices came from an alleyway on a street corner.

"That's them! After them, comrades!"

Renton turned and saw three armed men running after them carrying pistols and wearing the uniforms of the secret police. At first he kept running, trying not to think about what was behind him. He ran faster than he ever ran in his life, and he was carrying 25 pounds of supplies and gear on his back along with his rifle. Then he heard a bullet whiz past his head and took that as the cue to pull out his TT-33 pistol and fire as he ran on. Even while running, he still proved to be a good shot, getting one thin mustachioed man carrying a PPSh-41 in the head. When she and he turned a corner, now only 2 city blocks from the railway station, Renton turned and fired twice, killing both men with clean shots through the heart. He kept running, his mind racing and adrenaline running through his veins. He and Eureka turned another corner and were only a few hundred meters away from the station when…

BOOM!

A stray mortar shell fell near them and knocked both of them off their feet. Their visions went blurry and became desaturated for a few moments as they lay on the ground stunned from the shell. However despite their blurred vision, they saw three objects dressed in field green approach them. Two carried submachine guns with drum magazines and another carried a small shiny pistol. They walked up to the two figures on the ground, and aimed their guns at Renton as he slowly raised his pistol at the middle figure, even though he knew it would do no good. His labored heavy breathing formed white clouds of smoke in front of his face as his eyes began to moisten with tears, his life flashing before his eyes as he knew that this was the end. But how? WHY? Is this how his life was supposed to end? Cornered and on the ground in a foreign land, a hero turned villain of a people? He couldn't die! He CAN'T die!

_It can't end like this…is this really it? Does my life really end at 16 years? It can't end like this! There are so many things I want to do! So many emotions I want to feel! So many people to whom I want to say things I haven't said!_

_I want to live! I want go on and live a peaceful life after this blasted war! I want to tell Eureka what I feel now! I can't die like this!_

He slowly pressed his finger on the trigger and the three figures did the same, as Renton, alone and seemingly out of options and cornered, started to sob uncontrollably, feeling that this was the end of both of them no matter what he did.

Three shots went off, and the three figures fell dead, shot through the heart.

Renton exhaled loudly, crying his heart out for his life nearly coming to an abrupt incomplete end. As he tucked his pistol into his pocket, he heard a familiar voice from the dark alley in front of him.

"Buck up, Rentoshka. The friend I know never cries."

His vision began to come back and another figure approached him. He looked to be about his age, with grey tousled hair and blue eyes. He wore a dark grey coat with a black collar with matching grey wool trousers tucked into black leather boots and a yellow scarf around his neck. In his hands he held a semiautomatic SVT-40 rifle, the muzzle smoking like the end of a cigarette. It was _he_ who fired the shots! He had saved them…saved them all from certain death.

"Holland…"

Holland smiled and laughed.

"Get up, my friend. You're still alive."

Holland then looked to his little sister, who was breathing slowly her eyes wide and left speechless from the harrowing near death experience they just had.

"You too, sister. They're gone now."

Eureka still did not move, her senses numb from the shock and her mind unresponsive from staring death down the barrel of a gun. A few moments of silence passed as she seemed to be quietly engaged in prayer, thanking God that her life had not come to an abrupt end, especially when there was still so much left she had to say to Renton, so much left to see with him, and so much left to feel with him. She looked up to the one boy she had placed so much trust and faith in. She called to him, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Rentoshka…"

Renton knelt down next to her, feeling his heart beat slower with the passing of the guards and the dying away of the gunfire.

"It's all right now, Eureka," he whispered gently, not knowing whether he was trying to convince her or himself. "We're going to be fine."

"It's not that…could you…carry me…please?"

Eureka felt the urge to feel warm by his side, Renton seeming to be the only vestige of comfort and safety left in the world now. Russia could no longer be counted on for protection. Her home could no longer offer sanctuary. All that was left was the boy, the boy she had loved since that warm August day four years ago.

Renton obliged her, and Holland stifled a snicker as Renton picked her up, placing his hands under her back and her knees, harkening an image from a fairytale. How life could easily go back to being the fairytale it once seemed. Sadly life was never a fairytale to begin with, and if one deluded oneself to think it once was, it would be even less of a fairytale. Renton then turned to Holland who wore a knowing smirk on his lips.

"If only I had my camera," Holland said chuckling.

Renton only shook his head exasperatedly and smiled, having been through this before with him.

"Shut up, idiot," he said smiling.

Holland only laughed as they walked towards the station amidst the heavy snowfall. Renton then turned to his old friend, knowing this may be the last time he will ever see him.

"How long will it take us to get to Vladivostok?"

"About two weeks, I think. As long as you show the fake passport you will be fine."

"Thanks again, Holland."

"Don't mention it. It's the least I can do for a friend."

"Holland…how did you know Chertov would try and stop us?"

"There's always that chance information will be leaked. Someone has to protect the goods."

"Is money the real reason behind this?" Renton asked skeptically.

"Not at all," Holland replied. "In a way…_you_ were the very inspiration for me doing this."

Renton looked at him in surprise.

"Me? How does all this have to do with me?"

"No one had ever heard about life outside Russia, and when you told us about your home, we saw the world with new eyes…even the ones who still hate you for it."

"Like Chertov?"

"Da. Even him. Everyone's lives changed after you left…"

Holland looked around at the ruined city that he now called home, a virtual pile of rubble caught in the burning and agonizing hellfire that was war. A city that he had called home since birth. A city that had been through so much. A city where nothing unordinary happened, until that one day in late August. A city on the Volga in a country torn by war.

"…some for better…others for worse."

"Holland…do you ever get that crisis in your conscience after doing something you know is wrong?"

"Nu shto ty3?"

"Like when you kill a man. Don't you feel bad for ending his life?"

Holland looked down at the ground at his hands grasping the rifle as they walked onto the platform in the station. He sighed deeply, all of the instances where he fired a rifle and killed another zipping through his mind.

"Honestly, I try not to think about it. Why? Have you?"

"More than I ought to," he said dejectedly. "I was only in the fighting for five days and already I've lost track of the Germans whose lives I've taken. Every time I look at my hands they're covered in blood. I don't have your taste for fighting."

Holland looked to his old friend, the one person he knew he could trust in this life, the only true friend he had. He saw dark circles under his glazed glassy green eyes, and the oak brown hair was unkempt and a thatch of it hanging in his face. He had a tired look in his expression, like a man who had seen Hell and all its horrors and had come back from escaping Satan. A man who had seen too much suffering, too much destruction, too much death.

"Do you know how many Germans I've killed? I've lost count since the day I came to your doorstep. Never once in my lifetime did I think that I would pick up a rifle and deliberately take another man's life. The mere thought is a nightmare I can never wake up from."

Renton turned to his old friend as they all heard a steam whistle in the distance.

"You have to teach me your secret to living with yourself. I should like to learn it."

"Sometimes, Renton, we do less than honorable things to achieve a noble end. But if we get what we're looking for, then it doesn't matter what we did to get where we are."

Renton sighed and shook his head.

"Skol'ko zhiznei stoyit, Holland? Dyesit'? Dvadtsat'? Sorok? Sto4? Is all the talk about saving democracy and freeing the world really worth all this slaughter?"

Holland sighed, seeing wise words from his wise old friend. He never really took into account just how many lives he was taking to achieve freedom, a prospect that now seemed remote. How many lives _was_ all this worth? Was this worth it _at all_? How many more lives must be taken to prove who is right and who is wrong?

"Rentoshka, there are many things more frightening to me than death," he answered, with a lick of rueful doubt. "I'd rather be dead than live in a city where freedom and safety is not a guarantee. That's why I took up the fight. I'll carry the weight that comes with freeing my home, even if it takes me the rest of my life. If the day comes when I do pass on, I'll have no regrets for the path I chose."

"I see," Renton said, nodding. "I can't fault you for thinking like that. I guess I just wish that we didn't have to resort to violence to solve the world's problems."

"There is always hope it will be that way. Just not this year."

Both laughed at the cruelty of the world as the train pulled up and the doors opened. Renton turned to Holland one last time. It didn't feel right to him to leave him alone to face hell and darkness like this, with another member of his family taken away. He and Mikhail and the others left behind didn't deserve any of this!

"Holland…this is your last chance. If you still want to come with us, then now's the time."

Holland smiled and shook his head. Eureka's place was with Renton, but he had obligations to what home he had left here.

"I can't, Renton. My place is here. The partisans need me, and I need what home I have left. Besides, it would be upsetting for Father to come home and find no one to greet him."

Renton and Holland laughed as Renton then took one step onto the passenger car.

"Holland…"

"Don't say anything Renton. One goodbye was enough."

Renton smiled, then felt a gentle tug at his coat by Eureka. He looked down to her and stared deep into the kind and childlike grey eyes of an angel misplaced in Hell. He felt his throat suddenly tighten and his heart beat faster and louder than a drum. He suppressed a small tear that he felt coming to his eye, lamenting at how this innocent little girl had been violated by the cruel unforgiving world that called for war, death, and hatred. She never deserved her home to become a battlefield. She never deserved to see men die city blocks away. She never deserved to be kicked and trodden upon by the boots of so many men that would throw away humanity to achieve some temporal and vain victory.

"Put me down a moment, Renton. There is something I have to do."

Renton set her down gently, and she walked calmly, somewhat hesitantly to her brother. She knew full well this may be the last time she will ever see him again. She had already spoken to him about how she didn't plan to come back to Russia, after everything they had been witness to. Holland knew too that he may never see his little sister again, as all the moments in his life with her passed quickly through his head.

Her birth, and whose life their mother had given up in exchange.

Her first steps, coming surprisingly sooner than most children.

Her first words, calling out to him to play with her.

Their times as small children playing in the streets and sledding down the slope of Mamaev Kurgan.

Their first meeting with Renton, when their lives were forever changed.

Without as much as a warning, Holland was embraced by her, hearing her softly sobbing at the loss of her family in exchange for refuge. It seemed like a sacrilege that her family must be lost in order for her to be with the one boy she loved most on Earth.

"Thank you, brother," she whispered. "I'll never forget you."

Holland smiled warmly, rubbing her head and running his fingers through her soft downy hair.

"Do one last thing for me, Eurekasha."

Eureka looked up into her older brother's blue eyes, casting out a glow that seemed to light up the cloudy wintry night.

"Once you get on the train, don't ever look back."

Eureka said nothing, but only nodded, knowing what he meant. This was a new start for her, a rebirth as it will soon be. And there was no sense in trying to return to the past. She would leave, and once she stepped onto the train with Renton, there would be no turning back.

Eureka parted from her brother and slipped past Renton, taking the first step onto the train. Just as Holland requested, she never again looked back. She walked up the steps, and stopped in the vestibule of the passenger car, waiting patiently for Renton.

Renton turned one last time to Holland, and spoke simply.

"I won't forget you either, Holland."

"I don't expect you to. The fact you came back is proof enough that you never forgot us."

"I'll come back someday," Renton promised. "I'll return to you all. And we'll be together again."

"That's what you said last time. You kept your promise then. I know you'll do it now."

Renton smiled and with all he needed to say expressed in no uncertain terms, took two more steps into the passenger car when Holland then called out to him.

"Renton…"

Renton looked back and saw Holland's traditional sarcastic half-smile on his face, the winter moonlight glinting in his blue eyes.

"When you _do_ come back, make sure you have a ring on her finger."

Renton didn't think Holland knew too how he felt towards Eureka, but it was reasonable to assume he had guessed. Holland and Mikhail often joked with Renton and Eureka at how close they were, and never missed an opportunity to drive them closer. He felt comfortable knowing that one other person in the family knew his real reason for coming all the way out here, risking life and limb and more. Renton laughed.

"I'll see what I can do," he said smiling.

"Promise?"

"I promise."

With that, he boarded the train as the doors closed. The engine's whistle blew as the train gave a sudden lurch and started moving. Holland stood on the platform as the cars passed by slowly, and kept looking on at the train carrying the two most important people to him until it was out of sight.

Renton took a few more steps up and found Eureka still standing in the vestibule between the cars. She didn't move, but only stood there turned away from him, and seemingly turned away from the whole world, the world that had shunned humanity itself. He wished to say the words he meant to say for so long, the feelings he had kept locked up inside his own heart, but as his lips parted, he heard her quiet sobbing.

It was soft, like the whimper of an injured dog, but it grew in sadness that was poured out with ever tear shed. Renton placed one gloved hand upon her light shoulder, trying to find the words to comfort her. What on earth could he say? What words could he utter that would put an end to her sorrow, to help her start over?

He leaned in and quietly whispered in her ear,

"Come with me, Eurekasha, and you will never have to cry again."

Eureka slowly turned, showing the bright tears standing in her snowy grey eyes, streaming down her cheeks in rivers, a dam unable to hold back the sadness built up in her heart.

"Rentoshka, never is a long time," Eureka said, trying to fight through her tears.

"I know," Renton said. "Eureka, you said you would help ease any pain I felt…carry any burden I'm too weak to bear. Well, I will do the same…if you will let me."

Eureka eyes grew to the size of saucers as if in shock that he was making such a large commitment.

"You'd do that for me?"

"Of course I would, Eureka. I came all this way for you, after all."

At that last admission, Eureka embraced him tightly, almost bawling the way a small child would. He did everything, risked everything, including his life, for _her_. Not for her family in general. Not for the friends he left behind. Just her. If that was true, he cared that deeply for her enough to fight and possibly die in a country that was never his own. Could it be that this boy whom she longed for since the day they met…that he, the quiet shy reluctant boy who never had a word of ill will…truly…deeply…loved her?

Renton cradled her, rocking from side to side the way one would a small infant, shushing her and speaking soft words that calmed her, soft sweet words that dried her tears and stemmed the flow of grief.

"Do you mean all that, Rentoshka?" she whispered her sobs subsiding. "That you came all this way, forsook the comfort and safety of your home, and risked your life…all for me?"

"For you. And no one else."

Eureka tightened her grip on him, wringing his sleeves as her hands grew into trembling fists. That was all she needed to know. This journey to America was proof of everything. He had done all this for her. Just then she thought of how she was to live with Renton from now on; he would be the only support she would have in America, and she would be forever lost without him.

"Renton?"

"Hmm?"

"Just promise me…one thing."

"Anything."

"Don't ever…_ever_…leave me again. I tried to live without you, but I need you. Promise me you'll stay with me from now on."

Of course he would stay with her now. It was because he had ached for her that he came all this way as if death were nothing. He was here now because of her. If she ached from the loneliness of four years, then he will ease it, by supporting her and staying by her now and forever. Not because of any duty he felt. Not because he thought he could gain anything by it. He did it because he wanted to.

"I swear as God is master of the Earth, I will never leave your side."

Satisfied, Eureka sealed their vow with a small quick kiss to his lips before finally, reluctantly, breaking from his embrace.

"If that's done," Eureka said wiping her tears, "then shall we go to our beds?"

"Sounds like a good idea," Renton laughed. "I am tired from all the running."

"So am I."

They walked down the corridor and soon found their compartment, and went to the business of getting ready to retire for the night. Eureka was quicker in this regard than Renton was. She took a white nightgown from her suitcase, and turned to Renton, winking and wearing the face that would make any man fall in love.

"Well, I'm going to change into my nightgown, so no peeking, Renton Ivanovich…"

And with that she closed the curtains to the top bunk as Renton laughed.

"I _do_ have a sense of integrity, Eureka Petrovna."

"Sure you do…"

"Wow, that actually hurt."

"I was just kidding, Renton!"

"I know. I was playing along."

Eureka then played along with him too.

"Renton Ivanovich! How dare you lead me on like that!"

Renton chuckled.

"Forgive me, Eureka Petrovna. Is there _anything_ I can do to make it up to you?"

With that, Eureka jumped from the bunk in her old long white nightgown and into his arms with the happiest smile he had ever seen on her.

"How does staying by my side always sound to you?"

"I can do that. Easily."

"I should hope so," she said softly, burying her face in his coated chest.

"Do you doubt my word?"

She looked up with a twinkle in her grey eyes and a smile on her face that had love and devotion written all over it as she gently brushed his cheek with her delicate smooth hand.

"No," she said smiling, "you've proven yourself to be the person I want to spend the rest of my life with."

Renton blushed at that and wanted to come out now and say what he had been meaning to say to her since he left for home four years ago, but then as he opened his mouth to speak, Eureka placed one delicate finger on his lips and shook her head slowly smiling.

"Don't say anything Renton until you are comfortable to say it."

Renton smiled and nodded as Eureka leaned in and whispered in his ear,

"Renton, could you do something for me?"

"Of course," he responded gently. "What is it?"

"Would you…sleep with me tonight? I want to feel warm and safe by your side."

Renton was at first taken aback by her forward request, but after seeing the glow in her snowy grey eyes, the smile on her thin lips and the happy and relieved look in her face, he couldn't say no to her.

"I'll do it for you."

"You…will?"

"Da, ya budu."

Her snowy grey eyes lit up and glowed as if the rays of Paradise itself emanated from them.

"Spasibo…Renton…moy milyi5."

Renton blushed slightly as he kissed her on the forehead before taking off his overcoat fur hat and boots and then lay down next to her, as the train rocketed out of the station and through the snowy Russian steppes to freedom.

»»»»»

In the city, Chertov had come to, but it was only after the fact. After he had gotten away, and after had taken her with him. Despite the freezing cold he felt his blood boil as it ran down his face from the wound in his head, inflicted by Renton. He wandered the empty street, searching for his comrades, though he breathed a silent plea that his officer wouldn't be the one who finds him. This was a personal vendetta _he_ alone had to settle. This was more than a simple matter of crossing a border and taking a citizen to desert the country. It was a matter of payback. Renton would not have the last laugh, and neither would Eureka. He silently swore as much as he uneasily shuffled into an alleyway.

"Thurston…you'll pay for this…I'll see to it myself. You won't leave this country alive. Neither of you will…"

1 NKVD: People's Commissariat for Internal Affairs _(Narodnyy Komissariat Vnutrennikh Del)_, the public and secret police organization of the Soviet Union. This ministry was directly involved in the political repression of the Soviet Union in the 1930s and 1940s under Joseph Stalin, including administration of the Gulags, deportation of unwanted nationalities and Kulaks, and conducted espionage and political assassination abroad.

2 Come on.

3 What are you talking about?

4 How many lives is it worth, Holland? Ten? Twenty? Forty? One hundred?

5 My darling.


	15. Chapter 15

******Author's note: Consider this a little breather, as chapter 16 will concern the fight to flee Vladivostok. The end of the story is close now (read: I'm working on it right now) so it should be posted along with 16 in the next couple days. Any more reviews by you all are well appreciated by me.**

* * *

**Chapter Fifteen**

**December 30****th****, 1942**

**Stalingrad, USSR**

Chertov had refused all else in order to find a way to stop them. He vowed to himself that he would get back, and it would not be the last either Renton or Eureka heard from him. However, several Red Army officers had different plans for him, and for his soldiers. The Soviets had stepped up their attacks in the city, seeking only to draw the noose around the careworn 6th Army tighter and tighter. All officers and soldiers were intent on hammering away at their hated enemy, until they were left with no maneuvering or fighting room. There was a new determination among them all; each knew this was would bring the victory that had for so eluded them.

Despite the frequent calls to battle against the fascists, Chertov still managed to find time to communicate with the NKVD. What little degree of seriousness they found in him, one thing they did take was the threat of an invaluable propaganda tool leaving them. The only thing they seemed intent on fighting him to the death on was the fate of the American if he should be caught.

"I don't care what you do with either of them; just make sure they don't get across the border!"

"Surely you understand, Senior Sergeant," Alekseev tempered him as he continued ranting away on the phone, "what this could mean for our cause if he was killed."

"For God's sake, Alekseev, I don't have the time for your ramblings! He's humiliated me twice now. I can't let it happen again…"

Alekseev only stepped back, fearing what consequences would be heralded if he should incite his wrath again.

"Now," Chertov continued, "as I was saying, I only want him caught before he leaves the border; your method of achieving that is in your hands, officer Danilov."

"_My only concern is the repercussions this will have for the war effort, Sergeant Chertov. I am certain I don't have to explain to you what a tremendous morale boost this has provided to our soldiers."_

"And this is coming from the artists of deception themselves!" Chertov laughed disbelievingly. "What about all those fancy stories you cook up? The fates of our political enemies? _You're_ the masters of storytelling in this state, are you not? I am certain you can come up with a good-selling story."

He walked to one side, phone still in his hand, imagining the lip service that would be given to a "hero of the people."

"I can picture it perfectly: 'Renton Thurston has sacrificed his life for the Motherland! This is the body we recovered from Stalingrad. This is the last will and testament to his family and friends.' You're the poets, aren't you?"

There was a sigh of resignation from the other line, apparently having heard more than his fair share of ranting from this over-opportunistic careerist of an noncommissioned officer. Regardless of who the report was coming from, the fact still remained someone was in violation of the law, and justice had to be delivered. If he did away with this troublemaking foreigner, he'd be able to shut this barking pipsqueak of a sergeant up.

"_I will see what has to be done. That is all I can promise you. What of the girl?"_

"Capture her, but don't kill her. I shall decide her fate later."

**Somewhere along the Trans-Siberian Railway**

The train had stopped at a refueling station near a small Siberian village in the middle of nowhere. The village seemed abandoned however, as there was not a single soul outside in the cold unforgiving Siberian winter.

They were getting tired of the claustrophobic sensations of the train and trudged out into the heavy snow, boots coats and all. They left, with one eye always looking back to make sure the train would not leave them behind. The small Siberian village that was seemingly empty actually hid a small group of children at play near a stand of trees that had lost all their leaves to the cruel murderous winter. There seemed to be little that survived the extreme conditions in this remote part of Mother Russia.

Renton was dressed as usual all in black, much to the chagrin of Eureka. He always seemed so gloomy in black, and especially when they had left the horror of battle and deprivation behind in the martyred city that was once Eureka's home. Eureka by contrast wore her usual white coat with her old light blue dress, still torn around the hem and patches covering her bosom. Renton chided her somewhat that she would still wear that old thing when it was clear it was ready to be thrown away, but Eureka would always gently remind him that she always had to make do with what she had during the siege.

It seemed so strange that in an Earth that had been consumed in the fire of war had some parts that were untouched by its scourge. Strange to hear the sounds of children laughing and playing in the snow. Strange when only a few days before, the sounds of battle roared merely a few blocks away from their home.

The lights from the houses managed to provide a small guide to the lone travelers, wandering in the Siberian steppes, the snow falling on them, the cold stinging their faces. Soon they found two rocks to sit on, and watch the children at play in the open field, tossing snow at each other, laughing and romping as if the violence had long since past. They silently stared, reminiscing of the happy times they once shared. It was a memory so distant, and yet they both could remember as if it was yesterday. Eureka giggled softly, wondering if such a time could ever be had again.

What was she saying? Of course there would be times like those again. The war had put a stop to such times, but once the war was won and peace restored, it would be all too easy to go back to those simple happier days. She didn't even have to wait that long, when she thought about it. Once the border was crossed and they came ashore on Renton's home, they could go back to those times…perhaps even have something far greater than what they had in those innocent days. There were still so many things she wanted to say to him, and do with him.

Eureka smiled, thinking just now of something that she never did with Renton.

"Renton, I just realized something," she started, rather timidly and staring down at her boots.

"What is it?"

"You never had a snowball fight with me or my brothers."

Renton realized instantly that she was right. He had come during the last month of summer, when the heat was just starting to wear down, and the winds of autumn began to blow.

"You're right. Maybe I should have come in December," Renton chuckled.

"You would have frozen," she giggled in response.

"So what are you saying?"

"I'm saying this."

Renton turned to her, and was immediately greeted by a snowball to the face, complemented by the laughter of Eureka. He fell onto his back into the snow and looked up at Eureka, barely able to control her laughter, tears of joy in her eyes. Such a beautiful sound, her laughter. It was such a sound Renton never thought he would hear again.

"What was that for?" Renton asked laughing.

"For our first snowball fight!"

"So you want a fight?" he said as grabbed and molded some snow in his hands. "Then here it is!"

He tossed a snowball and struck her in the face, giving him ample time to run towards a small woodlot, laughing as he ran. Such exhilaration. Such excitement. Such innocence, that had never been seen since days past, nor would ever to be seen again.

Eureka wiped off the snow and quickly gave chase to her friend, following him into the woodlot, and searching for him among the trees that gave him cover and did little to stop the falling of snow, with no leaves left to provide a canopy. She giggled, remembering how often they would play hide and seek in the woods outside of her home, often with the involvement of her brothers and friends. Renton was always chosen to be "it" and find everyone in their hiding places. Of course, finding anything in the woods was not an easy task.

"Renton…" she called, in a sing-song voice. "Where are you?"

"Where you cannot see," he replied in the same tone.

Eureka, armed with this knowledge, turned around to see her friend standing beside a thick tree, rolling up a snowball in preparation for a volley of cold and ice in her direction. Eureka laughed and threw her snowball first, barely getting him in the arm as he ducked behind the trunk of the tree.

"Oh _do_ be still, Renton," she pouted, laughing as she bent down to roll up some more snow. "How am I supposed to hit you if you keep moving?"

"Isn't that the point of a snowball fight?" Renton laughed, peeking out from behind the trunk.

She was turned away from him, bent over and still molding snow in her hands to form a ball to throw at him. He knew this was the time and it would not do to wait another second. He promptly threw his snowball with the fling of his arm, straight at Eureka, still unaware.

"Well it's no fun if you don't—OOH!"

She felt something cold strike her posterior, and looked back to find a small blotch on her dress near her buttocks, showing where Renton's snowball had found its mark. She blushed in embarrassment as she listened to Renton's laughter, now determined to get him back.

"Renton, you cheeky little devil!"

Renton was still doubled over in laughter, the thought of taking cover escaping his mind. Eureka took the opportunity to score a retaliatory blow, right to his head, knocking him over onto his back still laughing.

"I can't help it…" he choked out, "…if you're not paying attention!"

Eureka trudged towards him, snowball in her gloved hand. Renton realized he still had a snowball in his hand as well and waited until Eureka was only a few feet away from him, and threw his last snowy round of ammunition, striking her in the abdomen, with her giggle as a response. Eureka then threw her last snowball and struck him through the heart, before shoveling snow onto him all the while laughing and shouting.

"Do you surrender?"

"Never!"

"I'm sorry, what did you say?" she said sarcastically as she shoveled more snow to his laughter.

"I said I'll surrender!" he finally consented, still choked with laughs of joy.

"That's what I thought you said…"

Eureka stopped the fight, and knelt beside Renton, like a nurse tending to a wounded soldier, wiping the snow off his coat with her delicate gloved hands. However the wiping soon gave to caressing, and the kneeling gave way to lying beside, which then turned into rolling around in the snow, laughing carefree and with the smiles of children and in memoriam to days long since past.

The rolling finally stopped, with Eureka lying on top of Renton, her face mere inches away from his.

"Not bad for a first fight," Eureka complimented.

"You're quite good yourself. Where'd you learn to throw snow like that?"

"I'm around snow a lot more than you, Rentoshka."

"Next time, you must teach me your secret."

"That's for only me to know, Renton, not you," Eureka chuckled, tapping him gently on the nose.

"Spoil my fun why don't you?" he laughed.

"I have to have my edge in the fight. You just need to find yours."

Renton laughed and curled his arms behind her, pulling her close to him, warmed by the heat of her soft sinewy body, enjoying each other's company making insulation from the cold. Eureka rested her head gently on his coated chest, and whispered gently sweet words, and asking tantalizing questions that she needed answered from him, promises she felt needed to be reaffirmed, if she was to continue life with him from now on.

"Renton?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you promise you'll stay with me when we get to America?"

"Of course. I'll let you stay in my home if you need it."

"What is your home like, Renton?"

"It's nothing special, really. Just any ordinary home in any town. I can't complain, but it is a good home."

"What's your town like?"

"It's small, in a valley between two mountains. It's by the ocean so there is a beach near the town. The people are very kind."  
"As kind as you are?" she asked with a sincere entrusting smile.

Renton only laughed and rubbed her head gently, wondering if anyone in the world was as kind as she was. Even after this awful war had inflicted such horrendous damage upon her home, she still managed to brave a smile and laugh and love…

Love…

At that word, he felt his heart stir again and the lump in his throat grow larger, over what he did not know. He already admitted to Chertov before how much he loved this little girl of 15, dressed in white and blue. He thought at first that he only said that to save her life and allow them to pass in safety with no shedding of blood. But since he left the city three days ago he now wondered if maybe the words held validity, if he did have feelings for this girl now cradled in his embrace.

Did he love her?

Truly love her?

The question repeated itself in his head, and then the damning question that had resided in his head for so long, had now become a part of him, had caused him torment at the mere thought, soon resurfaced.

"_Rentoshka, if you were destined to stay in Russia forever, or if I was a citizen of your country, would you and I have fallen in love?"_

He felt the need to shed a tear, but he didn't for some reason. No, there was no reason to cry now. His madness had quelled. His torment had ended. It was all resolved now that Eureka was with him, together, and homeward bound. So why did that question repeat itself in his head? Why must it resurface now, when the torture and depression he felt eating at his heart had abated?

He suddenly felt the need to ask her this question, and know what she felt, get her opinion on the subject. He wanted to part his lips, but he did not, as he reasoned that there would be a better time, a better place, for such matters. Not now. Not when they were still in danger. Not until they could truly be safe.

It was at that when he swore silently in his heart. Eureka would never experience the horrors of battle again. Eureka would never again come face to face with death. Eureka would never again cry in fear or in anguish, but would now cry in joy and celebration.

"Eureka, I'll protect you."

At that little vow, Eureka's head tilted so she looked Renton straight in his piercing green eyes.

"What did you say?" she said, slightly surprised.

"You have been subject to so much horror, Eureka. I swear now that I won't ever let any of it happen to you again. I will keep you safe. That is my solemn promise to you."

"Renton…" she mouthed out, still in shock that he would talk of such great commitments. "…why…?"

Before she could say anything else, he placed a gloved finger to her lips and quieted her, before leaning in and whispering, his words soft and inauspicious as the wind yet striking true as the tip of an arrow,

"Because you mean more to me than I could ever explain."

At those words, Eureka's heart melted, and she along with it, into his gentle and deep embrace. He felt so warm with her close to him, her body giving him the comfort of a mother to her child. He felt a want, nay, a need, to stay with her now just as they were, for as long as time could permit. It was much better like this with her, cradled in his arms, her breaths in step with his, and their eyes looking nowhere else but into the other. All else faded away, from the forests, the snow and the village, to the distant laughs of children and the gentle rhythmic sounds of the idling steam engine in the distance. The only thing that was left in the world was them.


	16. Chapter 16

******Author's Note: Well I said there would be some action in this chapter, and I hope I delivered on that. Had a lot of fun writing this chapter out. Next chapter will be the last one. I hope everyone who read up to this point has been enjoying it so far; I owe a lot to the people who have been giving me feedback and constructive criticism this whole time. I could not have made it this far without your help. Read on, review, and enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter Sixteen**

**January 5****th****, 1943**

**Vladivostok Harbor, USSR**

They had arrived in the harbor after another week on the rails. They were sure they were home free once they made it out onto the merchant ship that awaited them moored in port. They thought they were safe at last, and nothing, not even the men of the NKVD, could touch them.

Renton and Eureka wandered around the docks, waiting for the time to board their final ship home. Their passports had been checked out, and there were no complications…for now anyway. The ship was not leaving for another two hours or so, and they had some time to relax and wonder.

There was a small café sat along the docks, overlooking the Pacific Ocean, providing refreshments to soldiers who were about to leave for parts unknown and for the sailors who brought in fresh much-needed supplies from the Allies across the sea. It seemed a perfect place for the two weary travelers to get a last taste of the motherland before they finally leave for their new home in America.

Renton and Eureka cautiously walked in, the bell bolted to the wall ringing with a jingle as the door opened. The opening of the doors brought to their ears a cacophony of various noises. Men chatting, the sound of metal clattering from the kitchen, and there was the faint smell of coffee in the air.

They looked around and saw an empty booth by the window overlooking the docks. The duo wasted no time in claiming the empty booth. Neither spoke, for neither felt there was anything to be said. The dangers had passed; the time for celebration was not far off. It was only a little further across the ocean until at last they would reach safety.

A waitress soon came and asked what they wished to have, and Renton made it known.

"Kofye, pazhalusta.1"

"A ty, molodaya devushka?2"

"Goryachni shokolad, pazhalusta.3"

The waitress smiled and noted it on her order pad, and left them alone to tend to the orders. Renton looked out, finding a perfect view of the docks, and swore he could find their ship moored among the others. Eureka in the meantime looked around the coffee shop in wonder, never seeing so many people in one place before. Not even in her neighborhood, which was so tightly knit and where all knew all, were there as many people as there were that occupied this little coffee shop.

Her muses were interrupted when the waitress came back as quickly as she had left, carrying their respective drinks on a platter, and placed each in front of them on the table. Renton paid promptly, saying this was all they would have, and the waitress smiled kindly before bidding them a happy time.

Renton meticulously added sugar and cream to his coffee and promptly drank, taking in the mix of strength and syrupiness, while Eureka took in the mix of syrupy sweetness and thickness. The drink left a smudge of chocolate on her lip which resembled a mustache. Renton looked up and laughed seeing her with a brown mustache across her upper lip. Eureka of course was perplexed, completely unaware of the amusing state she was in.

"What's funny, Rentoshka?"

"You got some chocolate on your face," Renton choked out.

Eureka pointed to different parts of her face trying to find the part that Renton found so amusing, but each time she pointed he shook his head. She grew increasingly frustrated with each search of her personage until finally Renton reprieved her from further searching by taking a small napkin and wiping her upper lip. She blushed as she felt his gentle touch wipe away the chocolate residue from her upper lip, leaving a light brown smear on the napkin. She smiled, though she secretly felt embarrassed that the boy closest to her heart cared even in that small respect. The thought of him caring even more…

She shook her head violently to bring her out of thoughts that made her dizzy and delirious. Eureka looked up again to say something to Renton, but his gaze had turned outward, looking through the window they sat by towards the docks where the last leg of their journey to freedom and safety lay. They just had to show their tickets and board one of those ships and they would be home free. She looked out too, wondering what would become of those she would leave behind in this, her old Motherland. She had sworn a promise to herself and to Holland that she would never look back once she left her home city, but she could not help but feel sadness at the friends and family that would stay while she walked.

"I know what you're thinking," he said, without turning to her. "You don't have to feel that way."

Eureka tilted her head in confusion.

"Holland wanted you not to look back when you came with me back home. But he didn't expect you to forget about any of them."

"Renton?"

"I ought to know as much, Eureka," he said wearily, rubbing his eyes. "My father left me and my older brother to fend for ourselves, but he still writes us every day. He never looked back the day he left for basic training, but he never forgot about either of us. I'm sure your brother does not expect you to do the same."

Eureka was surprised at how easily he could read her like an open book, although she should not have. She could not think of another person outside of her family who knew her inside and out as well as he did. But his words of comfort did not ease away the fear she felt.

"It isn't that, Rentoshka. I'm afraid that when I do arrive, I will feel more alone than I did before you came back. What if I suddenly find the urge to return home? I don't want to put you in more danger than I already have!"

Her words were stopped by a gentle pressing of Renton's fingers to her lips, and a crimson shading of her cheeks.

"If the day comes when you should want to return, I won't hesitate to return you."

She smiled, his words always providing reassurance to her. Still she would be in a new and alien world with no one but him to guide her.

"It's going to be a big change, you know. I know next to nothing about your country."

"I'll help you every step of the way."

"What if your friends don't approve of me?"

"Then I'll punch them out," he said plainly, as if he was completely serious.

The thought made her giggle, but Renton took her free hand as she raised her cup to drink again. She looked to him over the rim of her cup and saw in his eyes the seriousness and solemnity of a man who carried weight of all existence on his shoulder.

"Eurekasha, I came because I wanted to help you, and I will stay by you for as long as you need me. If anyone tries to raise a hand against you, even if it's my closest friend, I won't hesitate."

"Renton…" she mouthed out slowly in shock and surprise.

"That's what I vowed to do when I first set foot in your country again. And I will run every risk that entails."

He sipped his coffee as if he said the most natural thing in the world. Eureka laughed as she set down her chocolate, knowing that she should not expect anything different from him; leave it to him to set his heart and soul in something and never give up on it until he had completed his goal. That never changed in him since the day he stepped into Eureka's life that hot August day four years ago. But what changed the dynamic was he had come for her and now was intent on taking her back. She continually wondered and dreamed in her head if the motive he came in with was a motive of the heart.

She felt a sudden urge to say what weighed so heavily upon her heart as both finished their drinks. She raised a hand to say something, but remembered that it was still not safe as long as they were within the Old Country's borders; they were still being pursued. For all either of them knew, an Interior Ministry agent might even be among them in the cafe. No, she wouldn't speak here when there was still too much to risk. Once they board the ship and leave the country for good, she would be safe to say what she had meant to all these years.

He got up first and tugged on Eureka's coat sleeve as a cue to go. The ship was due to leave in about an hour and it was better they got there early. Eureka did not quarrel and followed him, but he did not leave without the courtesy of leaving a tip for their drinks on the table, beneath Eureka's cup.

It was not five seconds after they exited the cafe that they looked to their left and saw three uniformed men interrogating a civilian about a photograph one man held in the grip of his leather gloved hand. Renton's muscles tensed, knowing that they would have to make an escape soon. If they wanted to get to the ship in safety, they could not attract any attention.

Renton felt Eureka grip his hand in fear. He saw her trembling and slowly disappear behind him, not wishing to be seen. Renton gave her hand an affectionate squeeze with an accompanying reassuring smile.

"Stay right behind me. Don't pay any attention to them and keep moving."

She nodded and said nothing as he protectively led her away, heading into a lane of dockside warehouses. They managed to avoid the attention of the police as they silently walked into the darkened street keeping close to each other, and Eureka never once loosening her grip on Renton's hand. He tried to find the words to calm her, but felt that whatever he said would be inadequate, since they were still in enough danger.

The warehouses were dark and filled with boxes and heavy crates of anonymous wares bound for places unknown. There was the occasional car parked inside one warehouse or a few workers handling the boxes with care, but besides that no one else watched these mute travelers heading for the way home. Occasionally they would spot a figure that traversed the snow covered sidewalks, and Eureka would always tremble in fear thinking it might be an Interior Ministry agent. But then the figure would walk past them with no interest, and she would breathe a quiet sigh of relief.

They passed by an alley and could see one of the docks, filled with ships moored and ready to set course for ports faraway that carried the much needed supplies for the continuing war effort. One of those ships was their ticket to freedom at last. Renton looked down at their tickets and saw the name of their ship written in English script and Cyrillic side by side.

_Name/Имя: Rusalka/Русалка_

_Dock/Док-станции: 15_

_Departure from/Oтход от: Vladivostok/Владивостокa_

_Arrival at/_ _Прибытие в: San Francisco/_ _Сан-Франциско_

Renton looked into the distance and saw a medium sized cargo liner with a black hull and white deck. The smokestack was red with a black finishing on the top. There were cranes hovering over the ship loading large boxes and crates on flatbeds. He looked closer to see the name of the ship painted in white Cyrillic letters on the bow.

**РУС-**

His reading was interrupted by a call from a deep and strong voice off to his right.

"Vot ani4!"

"Renton, they found us!"

Renton turned to his right and saw an NKVD officer, taking aim with his TT-33 pistol at the young couple. Renton grabbed Eureka and ran towards an alleyway which led to the next lane over. The bullet whizzed past both of them and clipped off a lock of Eureka's flowing dark brown hair as they ran. Eureka screamed, as bullets flew past them. Renton's mind raced trying to wonder how to get out of this predicament, and how on earth it had come to this.

How was it he had been transformed from hero to villain in mere days?

How was he supposed to escape while the Interior Ministry was running around the whole city?

Then he remembered.

As they turned right into the lane heading towards the docks, he saw through the cracks between the warehouses the name of the ship that was their rescue ship, their Noah's ark.

**РУСАЛКА**

That's it! As long as they got to the _Rusalka_ in time, they would be free! The only thing they had to do was slow down the NKVD. If they could hold them off until they got to the ship they would be safe. Renton gripped the sling on his rifle and quickly exchanged words with Eureka.

"Eureka, do you trust me?"

"With my life…" she answered breathless.

"Then follow my lead."

Renton looked to the left and saw a warehouse with many places to hide. This was their opportunity.

"There! Into that warehouse, now!"

They turned left and sprinted into the warehouse, taking note to hide behind a tall pile of crates. They stopped and breathed slowly but heavily as they waited for the officers to pass. Renton took the moment to take stock of what to do next. He felt his pistol in his trouser pocket along with a pocketful of ammunition while his rifle was slung over his shoulder. Renton turned to Eureka and handed her his pistol.

"Can you use it?"

Eureka hesitantly took the pistol and gripped it, cocking the hammer gently so as not to make a sound. Renton gave her what he had left of his ammunition, which she stored in her coat pocket. She nodded, understanding what was being asked of her. She knew what Renton had to do to find her and bring her this far. Now she would do the same for him. They would be sinners together, for it was a burden she was willing to carry for him.

"This time, Renton…I'll fight."

Renton smiled, but still sensed a great deal of fear and hesitance in her. He pulled her toward him with his hand behind her head, sifting through her soft hair and planted a kiss on her forehead.

"I'm counting on you. Be strong."

Eureka smiled and nodded, and waited until they heard no more footsteps before leaving the warehouse out the back. Both treaded lightly to make as little sound as possible, and turned right, keeping their eyes on the distant _Rusalka_, which they felt grew closer with each step. Both pairs of eyes darted all around, keeping an eye out for any agents that might intercept them, and trying to find a quick and painless way to the ship. The fewer casualties involved, the better.

Just then they heard chatter, and hugged the wall of a warehouse. Renton and Eureka leaned over and heard the conversation of NKVD officers, discussing the progress for their search.

"He's here," said a clean-shaven officer, brandishing a TT-33 pistol in his gloved hand. "The girl is with him."

"Do we know what ship they are leaving on?" asked a bearded officer carrying a PPSh-41.

"He purchased the tickets in America, so we have no way to track them."

"No matter," a scraggly-haired officer smoking a cigarette pressed. "Neither of them will get out."

He tossed his cigarette away and addressed the group of officers, which was becoming larger with each passing minute.

"We shall split up into different groups and search the entire area. If anyone finds them, give us all a shout, and we'll come running. Remember: we are to catch him dead or alive."

"And the girl?" asked the bearded officer.

"Don't harm her; Chertov wants her back in Stalingrad alive."

With that, the officers split up and began their search, and the duo took that as their cue to leave. Eureka looked to Renton in concern and in want of some reassuring words. She had to know she could count on him if things went wrong. She would need him as much as he needed her.

"Renton, what are we going to do? They're everywhere!"

"Don't worry," Renton tried to say with convincing assurance. "Just follow me and don't attract attention. I won't let anyone hurt you; I promise."

Eureka squeezed his hand, as if trying to think of something to say, but he had as little idea of what was to happen to both of them as she. He tried to think of a way to get out of the warehouses without causing commotion. It would be very difficult to escape undetected, but not impossible. As he was thinking this, they barely walked a block when they bumped into an NKVD agent, wielding a pistol.

"Stoy! Stoytye, seichas!5"

Renton swung his rifle across his head like a club, knocking him out instantly. But their cover had already been blown, and the only thing left for them now was to run. And that was exactly what they did.

Immediately they heard the sounds of agents shouting and their footsteps approaching; the other officers had heard their fallen comrade and were rapidly approaching the scene of the crime.. Renton quickly loaded his rifle as they ran into the warehouse and took cover behind crates, aiming from behind them as he awaited the oncoming NKVD agents. Eureka produced her pistol and took aim as well, trying to keep the tears out of her eyes, tears of fear. Tears of unwillingness. But she was not about to let her fears get in the way of protecting the boy closest to her heart.

The agents headed straight into the warehouse with their guns blazing, shouting for Renton and Eureka to surrender if they valued their lives. Renton and Eureka responded in no uncertain terms.

CRACK! BANG!

Two hits were scored to the chests of two agents and both went down with a thud, with dark red blood slowly pooling around the bodies. Eureka was amazed she had that good an aim and could hit a target. She swallowed her fear with each bullet that was ejected from her pistol, killing every officer that was fool enough to move in the open. Renton calmly fired and loaded his rifle, trying to search through his mind a way out of this fight. The agents took cover among the boxes and crates, and a stalemate fast ensued, with neither side willing to make a move. Renton ducked behind the crates as a bullet whipped past him. Eureka covered him with two more shots from her pistol before she too had to reload. Both of their eyes darted around the warehouse frantically for a solution to this deadlock.

Then Renton looked behind him and saw an open crate. Perhaps something in there could give them an advantage and a quick way out of this fight!

"Eureka, look in that crate and tell me what's inside!"

Eureka pulled the crate over to her as Renton covered her with each crack of the rifle. He was less accurate in his shots than he was previously, intending only to give her cover. Eureka peered inside and saw the crate was filled to the brim with freshly made RGD-33 grenades. She looked back to Renton and calmly told him as much to which Renton beamed, seeing a quick way to break the stalemate.

"Hand me a grenade!"

Eureka promptly did so and Renton quickly primed it. He waited a few seconds before tossing it so that the grenade would explode on impact. He breathed slowly as he counted the seconds while Eureka kept firing with her pistol.

"God help me if this is a dud!"

He threw it towards the agents, and it immediately detonated, killing all. The duo were not slow in taking their cue to leave, and immediately exited out the back door and ran down the street. The sounds of running footsteps echoed behind them as more agents pursued them from behind. Eureka desperately fired her pistol, trying to lose them. She was surprised to score a few hits, even if they were minor wounds that slowed them down slightly. Renton in the meantime searched for a way to lose their pursuers. He spotted one soon enough.

"There! We'll lose them in the alley!"

Both sprinted until they were out of sight of the agents and took a sharp right turn into the alley. They hugged the wall and waited for the agents to pass. Both breathed slowly and deliberately as the officers ran past the alley. They sighed in relief when the last officer's footsteps ceased, indicating they were alone again. Renton tugged at Eureka's hand, and calmly led her across the street and towards the docks.

On the other side of the warehouses lay the docks, lined with ship after ship being loaded with passengers and freight bound for parts unknown. He looked down the row of docks to find their ship. He thought he saw it when they both heard a shout from behind them.

"Hey, Fyodor! Eta ani! Zdyes!6"

Eureka turned around and with a look of anger and determination on her face that Renton had never seen before, put a single bullet between his eyes. Another officer, presumably Fyodor, came running up to answer his comrade's call only to find him dead. He raised his PPSh-41 to fire at the duo but Eureka quickly put him out of the fight as well with another well-placed bullet between the eyes. Renton saw an opportunity to better arm Eureka arise.

"Eureka, grab his submachine gun! Hurry!"

Eureka sprinted to the dead body of Fyodor and scavenged the PPSh-41, slinging it around her shoulder. Three more agents came into her purview armed with pistols ready to fire. Eureka froze, unsure of what to do now, but Renton shouted quickly breaking her trance.

"Shoot them, Eureka! Shoot them now!"

She squeezed the trigger, bracing herself for a massive kickback from the gun, and scored three hits with a single burst from her newly acquired PPSh-41. She sat astonished that she could handle a gun with little to no problems at all. The momentary daze quickly passed with Renton's call to her to run, saying they were near the docks. Eureka took to her feet and darted off, with a few more agents coming around the corner to pursue.

Bullets whizzed by with a crack as Renton kept his eyes on the approaching dock with the ship that seemed to call out to them. There she stood, quietly waiting in repose and with patience and poise. Eureka in the meantime kept her eyes down the sights of her pistol, continually firing and trying to score a hit on their pursuers who seemed to grow in number with each passing minute. She tripped on a piece of ice and fell next to a couple of barrels which both of them hid behind.

Renton pulled her gently behind the barrels, not minding the gunfire and raining bullets flying like hail.

"Eureka, are you alright?"

"I'm fine," she said, breathing heavily. "I just tripped."

Renton nodded, expressing relief. But as he looked over the top of the barrels, he saw a menacing sight. He counted at least six NKVD agents coming at the two of them, brandishing weapons of all kinds. He thought for sure they were cornered, but then he looked off to his right and saw the ship that they had been searching for right in front of them: the _Rusalka_. Thankfully the ship didn't look like it was departing yet, but if they didn't hurry, it would leave them behind. They had to make a run for it. One last run. One last leap. Freedom was within their grasp.

Renton tapped Eureka on the shoulder and indicated her to look to their Noah's Ark.

"The _Rusalka_! We're almost there!" Eureka cheered happily as she ducked to reload.

"We can still make it if we hurry," Renton replied. "We just got to get rid of these jokers first."

"How?!" she asked frantically. "They outnumber us!"

"But they don't outgun us. Use that submachine gun just like you took out the guys before."

Eureka breathed as Renton fired over the tops of the barrels, trying to pin down the agents and wounding one in the shoulder in the process. She grasped the stock of the gun, and prepared herself mentally to commit a sin, convincing herself in her head that this was the right thing to do.

This is for her survival.

This is for her future.

This is for her freedom.

She inhaled deeply, and rose, firing in sweeps as if the gun was a broom and the agents dirt on the floor. The bullets ripped through air and cut through barrels and boxes, splinters and slivers of wood flying in all directions like artillery shrapnel. Each agent arched and fell flat on his back with each hit, the blood tinting the snow a dark crimson. Five of the six agents lay dead sprawled on the ground. She was now just like him.

"C'mon, Eureka! Not much farther. One last leap of faith!"

Renton led Eureka by the hand and made a mad dash across the street to the gangway, leading up to one of the hull doors on the _Rusalka_. Renton paused and reloaded his rifle and knelt down by the entrance of the gangway, crouching behind a metal barrel.

"Eureka, you go first. I'll cover you."

Eureka hesitated, not wanting to leave him behind. Her eyes started to water as she felt that innate fear and dread of losing him again. She didn't want him to be abandoned here to face the wrath of the authorities while she would sail on to safety. If he must be a martyr, she shall be one as well.

"I'm not going without you."

"Eureka, this is not the time! If you don't get on that ship now, you're never getting out of here! Now, go!"

"I can't, Renton," she said, starting to cry. "I don't want to leave you here! We said we would escape together!"

"And we will!" Renton insisted, with his eyes constantly darting between her and his front, keeping an eye out for agents.

He looked in her snow grey eyes and saw that she was not in a negotiating mood; he could not move her to consider any other option. She would stay by his side and die if fate willed it. He sighed, and looked ahead, seeing approaching NKVD agents. They would make their last stand here before boarding the ship. Then they would run like hell up the gangway and escape capture. Renton nodded, indicating he relented, and Eureka smiled in kind. He asked one question of her.

"How much ammo do you have left?"

Eureka checked her dress pockets.

"One more pistol magazine. Why?"

"The second you've spent your last round, I want you to run to the ship as fast as you can."

"What about you? Where will you be?"

"Right behind you. We don't stop until we hit the deck of the ship."

Eureka nodded, having no objections. Renton looked around, trying to formulate a plan that would stop the agents from coming aboard the ship and apprehending them. He saw on the other side of the gangway a red fuel barrel, which gave him an idea.

"Eureka, give me your submachine gun."

She promptly did so and he slung it over his shoulder and indicated to her the fuel barrel. She understood and nothing more needed to be said as they both went prone behind the wooden barrel and awaited the oncoming agents. Renton was amazed at how she could so calmly use a pistol or any gun for that matter. She seemed such a gentle creature whom a breath might have withered, and yet she was strong and unyielding, able to fight with tenacity and resolve.

"I have one question, Renton."

"Yes?"

"How are you able to do this?"

"You mean kill?" he asked, though he knew that was what she meant.

She nodded.

"I fought because I wanted to see you. I wanted to help you. I wanted to take you away from all this, so you didn't have to be afraid anymore. I fight because I have a cause to fight for. My cause is you. And that's all the cause I need."

Eureka blushed at his sincere admission. Perhaps in his heart there was a special place for her, one that he was just too reticent to admit. She looked to her front and saw the agents grow closer, and saw the time had come to put away idle chatter and prepare for the fight. She aimed down her sight and chose a target. She waited for Renton to fire first. She didn't have to wait long.

The rifle cracked and an agent next to the one Eureka was aiming at went down with a bullet to his chest. Eureka fired in kind, and got the other. The remaining agents scattered to find cover, but it was not without more casualties. Eureka managed to down two more before the remaining one found cover behind a pile of boxes. Renton in the meantime took down one more agent before two returned fire. He ducked and Eureka covered him with her pistol while he reloaded his rifle. He checked his ammunition belt and found he did not have much left: three clips left. He would have to make them count.

Eureka reloaded her pistol and shouted to Renton,

"On my last magazine!"

"Remember: run when you've spent your last bullet!"

Eureka nodded, and returned fire hitting an agent in the forehead, knocking him on his back. she counted each round as they were spent, slowly getting closer to zero and her cue to run.

Five. A splintered bit of wood from a box.

Four. A near miss that made an agent duck behind cover.

Three. Knocked a pistol out of the hand of an agent taking aim at Renton.

Two. Wounded another agent in the hand, punching a hole right through his palm.

One. Took out an agent through the heart as he raised his rifle to fire.

That was her cue.

"Eureka, run! RUN!"

She didn't need to be told twice. She took to her feet and sprinted up the gangway as hard as she could pelt. Renton stood up and fired another rifle round into the approaching agents, downing one and knocking his hat off his head as he fell backwards into the snow, before taking his own turn to run, turning back and firing as he went.

He told Eureka to keep going up to the top no matter what, even if he stopped to fire. He kept an eye on the agents, whose numbers seemed to grow more and more. He counted almost ten of them now, coming straight for the gangway. They had to be kept at bay if he and she wanted to get out of this country alive. He ran a couple more steps up the gangway before kneeling down to fire, scoring a hit on an agent further back. his death went unnoticed by all except for one green recruit who stopped and knelt by his body, presumably to see if there was anything he could do. This was a mistake; Renton killed him with another shot from his rifle as well.

Renton pulled the bolt back to find he had no more rounds left in the rifle chamber. It seemed more appropriate now to make a run for it. He promptly did so. He had more than 50 pounds of gear, clothes and ammunition on his person, and yet he managed to make a fast runner, leaving bullets striking the floorboards of the wooden gangway with a snap and zipping past his body with a hiss. All the while he kept his eyes on Eureka, holding out her delicate gloved hand, beckoning Renton to come aboard quickly. He could feel Freedom. He could taste it. He could smell it. It was just within his grasp! Just a little further and he would be free to live with her for the rest of his natural life! Just one last leap of faith!

As his booted left foot took another giant step forward, a stray bullet struck him in the right instep, and he cried out in pain. When his right foot stepped forward, he stumbled and fell onto his right side, hitting the floorboards with another groan of pain. He looked up, and saw the figure of Eureka urging him come aboard, screaming at the top of her lungs to hurry. He heard the voices of the NKVD agents reveling in their success and orders from officers to seize the opportunity that had presented itself.

"He's wounded! Capture him, comrades, before he can escape!"

"Renton, for God's sake, get up quick!"

Renton turned over on his side, and reached for the PPSh-41 slung over his back, remembering his plan. He grasped it by the stock with his finger near the trigger guard, aiming down the iron sight of the gun, waiting for the moment to open fire. He slowly traversed the gun towards the red fuel barrel.

_More to the right…_

"Renton, please, HURRY!"

_Down a little…_

The ship's whistle blew, indicating it was about to depart from the docks. Eureka's cries grew in urgency and desperation.

"The ship's moving, Renton! Get up, please!"

_A little to the left…_

He had the barrel in his sights. Now he had to wait for the right moment to fire.

"We've got him now, comrades!"

"Hurry, Renton! The ship's moving away!"

"STAY WHERE YOU ARE!" he shouted to Eureka. "I'm not finished yet…"

The agents drew closer, and with each step Renton restrained himself from pulling the trigger too soon. It had to be perfect if it was to work. Eureka's cries turned into shrieks as the ship moved further away from the gangway inch by inch. Renton's hand shook a little as he felt a creeping fear that he might be stranded here if he did not fire soon. But it had to be the right moment. The shot had to perfect or else they were both done for.

_Just a little closer…_

"RENTON, HURRY!"

"Just a little closer…a little closer…"

The agents now crowded around the foot the gangway, and did not look to be intent on stopping there. It would not do to wait another second!

He pulled the trigger with all his might, and released a stream of bullets straight into the fuel barrel. The fuel barrel exploded in an orange and yellow ball of flames, flinging the agents too close to the barrel for comfort in all directions, striking those close by with deadly shrapnel and even embers of fuel which set their clothes ablaze. Sans the screaming of those who were now walking infernos from the fuel barrel, all was quiet now, the agents dead and the plan a success.

He struggled to his feet and turned to face Eureka, with the ship slowly moving away from the gangway.

"Come on, Renton! One last leap of faith!"

He smiled and nodded, knowing what he had to do. He took a few steps back to get a running start and then pushed as hard as he could, leaping out with both hands aiming to grab Eureka's. For a few moments he heard nothing but his own heartbeat. All else faded away as he moved through midair for a few moments while he prayed over and over in his head that he would make the jump and finally be safe.

With his injury on his foot, however, the jump was just a few inches shy of being perfect, and he grabbed hold of the deck of the ship. However there was not a single thing to grab onto and he was slipping. His prayers in his head grew in frequency and franticness, fearing that he would not just be left behind but be left freezing in the icy waters below.

Then he felt a hand grasp his.

He looked up and saw Eureka's smiling childlike face, her snowy grey eyes staring down into his piercing dark green ones. Her eyes seemed moist, but he knew they weren't tears of sadness; they were tears of joy.

"You've saved me before," Eureka whispered. "This time, I saved you."

"That makes us even, then," Renton laughed.

Eureka pulled him in with all her might until he managed to gain a footing in the inside of the ship. He stood up, and shut the ship's door, closing with a heavy iron clang.

Without even a word, Eureka embraced him, crying softly into his chest. Renton slowly curled his arms around her, tightening their embrace, and taking in the first moment they spent out of Russia together, looking back on all that had happened up to now. The friends he had made and lost. The sacrifices he made. The risks he took. The sins he committed. He had traveled through hell and ice and snow and back again for her.

Was it all worth it?

That question didn't need an answer, as the answer was already apparent to him.

He ran his fingers through her hair, comforting her with gentle words and silently thanked God that he had made it through the hellfire of war in this cold winter alive and had found her in the chaos.

"It's alright…it's over now…I'm here…I'll always be here…you're safe now…you're free…"

1 "Coffee, please."

2 "And you, young lady?"

3 "Hot Chocolate, please."

4 There they are!/It's them!

5 Stop! Stop now!

6 "It's them! Here!"


	17. Chapter 17 (END)

**Author's Note: This is it. The last chapter. I actually wrote this out a couple days ago as I was flying on a plane to Washington DC (coming for my first job!), and a six hour transcontinental flight can give you time to think. This, like the rest of the story has changed so drastically from what I first posted 5 years ago. I think it's a lot better than how it ended; it gives some closure, but at the same time leaves some room for unanswered questions (that will be covered in the next volume, when edited). So read on, enjoy, and review.**

* * *

**Chapter Seventeen**

**January 6****th****, 1943**

**Stalingrad, USSR**

The New Year had come and gone, without much celebration. Why should there be? Nothing had changed. A world war still dragged on with no end in sight. A continent still lay crushed beneath the heels of the fascist jackboot. Two allies had yet to open a second front, make a sizable impact and relieve pressure off his and his comrades' shoulders. And in Stalingrad, both sides fought on ferociously with no letup. The Red Army's only objective: make the Germans surrender in disgrace. But that was the last thing on his mind.

In the mind of this sergeant, huddled beside a small bonfire out in the middle of the night, one thing stuck in his mind as he gazed into the dancing orange flames: a boy and a girl, whose fates had remained in question since his last contact with the NKVD. They promised him they would find the boy, and kill him if necessary, ridding him of a thorn in his side. The swore they would return the girl to Stalingrad, and hand her over to his justice. That was how it was supposed to go, because that was how it always turned out with criminals in this country.

The eyes were everywhere, all-seeing and all-knowing. No one could hope to escape a crime without due punishment. Even in times of war, the laws were not silent. That was what he passionately believed, and that was what he was sure would happen here.

He rolled around in his head the thoughts of what he could do with Eureka if things went according to plan, and she was captured. It wasn't long ago when he looked to her fondly, seeing a charming young lady who, despite not attracting much attention from others in school, caught his eye. He never did much in the way of seeking her out and trying to win her favor, but there was something to be had, he felt.

Until the American came.

She fell for him, head over heels, and was inseparable from him since the day he entered the city. From that moment he hated him, and her as well for falling for his wiles. The hate had only intensified with his departure, as even in absentia, he managed to garner the attention of everyone around him, like a magnet drawing shards of scrap metal to it. What was so special about him? What about that bourgeois kulak made him steal the spotlight he once had? And why, on this green earth, did she still fawn over and pine for him?

Now the American had taken the center stage in his entire country, put on a pedestal and called a hero when the only reason he came was for a girl who he had not seen in years. If he was a hero like everyone claimed, he would have done it to help the people who had given him a home, who had opened their arms to him. Why would he even take part in the fighting if it was over a girl? He could have simply avoided the calls to arms and gone straight to her, with the snap of his fingers!

The sergeant's decadent chocolate brown eyes gazed into the fire and in an instant saw the images of the American and Eureka, laughing amidst the flames. The couple walked hand in hand, trudging through the snow of the great expansive Siberian plains. The sound of their laughter echoed in his head like a bully taunting him in a schoolyard. The image of them together made his teeth grind in anger as he wiped them away from his sight with a sharp wave of the gloved hand. Just as quickly the laughter dissipated and was replaced only by the crackling of the bonfire.

At that moment, a voice spoke from behind him.

"Sergeant Chertov?"

He turned and saw his subordinate, Alekseev. He carried an enveloped message in one hand, and held something tightly in the other he couldn't make out. Chertov only blinked at the sight of him, expressing neither displeasure nor delight at the sight of him.

"What brings you here, Alekseev? Isn't this the time of your nightly watch?"

"Yes sir, but a message came for you."

"Well, let's have it then."

Alekseev handed him the envelope, and Chertov saw immediately it had the seal of the NKVD on it. Just what he was hoping for. Smiling in anticipation, he tore open the envelope and read the message enclosed inside. It was in the form of a short telegram.

_To Senior Sergeant Ilya P. Chertov:_

_Made contact with American and girl in Vladivostok. Engaged in firefight. Was unable to pin down either American or girl. They boarded freighter Rusalka. Inflicted heavy casualties on us. No contact with ship's crew. Awaiting further instructions._

_- Junior officer Dmitry F. Danilov_

His teeth ground again, but this time he suppressed an urge to lash out in front of Alekseev; he was not at fault, at least not this time. What he wanted to know was how in blazes the American managed to escape them? Did he simply cut a swath through the docks to their ship? They couldn't have just _let_ him escape surely? How, then? How could he possibly have escaped so easily, even when he was outnumbered, and the entire police district was looking for him and the girl?

Chertov sighed angrily, knowing this mystery would not be solved in one night. He turned again to Alekseev and asked what more of him he wanted.

"Is that all, Alekseev?"

"No, sir. Captain Pavlenko wanted me to give these to you."

He outstretched his hand to reveal new insignia, designating the rank of a junior lieutenant: a single star placed over a thin red stripe on gold epaulettes.

"Your promotion came through…comrade lieutenant."

Chertov smiled and gladly took the symbols of his new status, shoving them into his pocket. At least the army was made up of enough competent people to see who was worthy of a field promotion.

"The captain also wanted me to tell you we have a new regiment commander. We are to report to him after this battle is concluded."

"Ya vizhu1. Tell Pavlenko I'm humbled by this promotion. And I am currently awaiting his new orders."

Alekseev saluted him and promptly left him alone again, staring into the fire. The flames mimicked his growing rage, burning hotter and hotter until his entire soul was scorched, consumed by this irrepressible desire to see revenge brought upon the American who had always outshone him, always displaced him, and always stole away what was rightfully his. Chertov crumpled the telegram in his hands, rolling it up into a ball of anger, the defeat stinging him harder than any battle wound could.

"This isn't over. Thurston…you haven't seen the last of me."

He stood up and cursed both his and the girl's name as he through the telegram into the bonfire, adding impromptu kindling.

"You will pay. _Both_ of you will! I'll find you…I'll find you if I have to burn down the entire world!"

The smoke carried a stifling pall as it traveled up into the atmosphere, past the clouds and dissipating among the stars that hid behind them. He carried that promise with him as the fire burned until it left only dimly glowing embers. Even then, he would still vow to have his vengeance. The bonfire burned out, but the fire of hatred still burned strong in his soul. He kept repeating it on into the night, long when he should have been asleep, as if it was his only means of comfort in a world where no man spoke of it.

»»»»»

**January 7****th****, 1943**

**Somewhere in the Pacific Ocean**

How long was it? Weeks? Months? Years? Decades?

Only two days. That was how much time had passed since they had finally escaped the clutches of Soviet authorities. At last it seemed the running, the escaping, and the madness had come to an end. Even when it was only two days, it felt like so much longer, and who's to say either of them would be wrong to think that? What else could one feel after being on the run, a prisoner in one's own country, betrayed by the nation one placed so much trust in?

Such was how she felt, since the day the battle began. Since she witnessed the horrors of soldiers being mowed down in the streets mere blocks away from her home. Since the first shell landed, and her family was shattered forever. Each night the only consolation she found was with him beside her, cradled, huddled for warmth, as if he was the only bastion of comfort the world could provide. He silently accepted it all, as she needed his care now more than she ever did before. And in his heart, he knew it was much better like this with her.

She woke up that day, the only sound being the gentle muffled ocean waves that crashed against the ship as they sailed on through the Pacific. She knew little of what went on outside of their tiny passenger's cabin on their freighter. All she did know was the country she left behind was still in turmoil, still recovering from an invasion, still struggling to hold the Germans back. She had no country now, as far as she was concerned. At least not for a few more days.

Parting away a few strands of her dark wavy locks, she found she was alone in the cabin. Renton had already gotten up and left, presumably to find something to fill his stomach; they spent the last of his rations yesterday. What he had to give her was rather different compared to what she usually got in the way of rations.

He split a small loaf of bread with her, and the bread was unlike anything she ever had in Russia. It had a slightly sour taste to it, that left her craving for more. She ate up her half with great delight, gnawing away at it as a squirrel would eat nuts. The sight of her ravenously eating bread he could get any day from any market was all too amusing for him.

"It's called sourdough," he told her as she finished up her half. "It's a special bread in my area."

"Eta ochen' vkusna2!" she exclaimed in excitement as she downed the last bit. "I've never had bread that tastes that good! At home, you always need something to top rye to give it taste."

"I'm glad you like it. There's plenty more of it when we get to America."

"There is?!" she asked, grey eyes bright with anticipation.

"Sure there is," he laughed. "It's a staple where I come from. There's even a restaurant in my town that specializes solely in sourdough bread."

"Will you take me there some time? I love to try more of this!"

"Sure, I'll take you there."

Such was the first promise he made for her future life in America. Just the name seemed to conjure up romantic images that were better placed in novels and fantasy than in the grounded reality. She imagined a bright town where the sun always shone, hidden beneath the mountains. She saw pristine white beaches where people laughed and played all day and all night. She sat atop rolling hills overlooking cities, roads, rivers, and the wide open ocean. She ran across long stretches of pastures, meeting horse riders and cattle ranchers. Knowing she was heading to that place far across the Pacific, that place that was so distant and unknown, that place Renton called home, felt more of a dream than a reality.

Yet it was all too real.

By God, was she happy it was.

Outstretching her arms as she sat up from her bunk, she took in her surroundings for a moment. The compartment was a small one, designed only for four people maximum, not surprising for a freighter carrying vital war supplies. There were two bunk beds on either side, bolted to the wrought iron walls. Renton insisted on taking the bunk on the right, although Eureka always managed to coax him into sleeping with her on her side, on the left. Next to her bunk, there was a door that led to a small bathroom complete with a sink, shower, and toilet. It was a meager addition, but one welcomed by her, as it actually had heated water, a necessity she had since lost in the siege that had dragged her home to Hell.

Fully awake, Eureka quickly set to the business of bathing and preparing for the day. It was such a refreshing feeling, as she couldn't remember the last time she had such a soothing and relaxing bath. The hot water pelting her seemed to melt away every fear and trouble in her body, leaving only a sense of refreshed optimism, like her best years were still ahead of her.

Once out and dried, she found some suitable clothes for the day, although they were still old and scarred by battle. The weather out on the Pacific always managed to be chilly, but nothing compared to the harsh winters she experienced in the Motherland. With that in mind, she clothed lightly: a lively baby blue dress with long white frilled sleeves, a cream-colored shawl she draped over her shoulders, and plain black Mary Jane shoes. Old relics of the past, of an age when the sun could always be counted upon to shine again.

Eureka carried herself out the door, and clambered up the metal gangway stairs to the upper decks. One door she passed was open to the outside, to the crashing waves and cold stiff breezes of the Pacific winds. A sailor stumbled past, soaked through to the skin as Eureka quickly shuffled past, searching for her friend.

"Izvinitye3, sir," she meekly inquired, "but could you direct me to the mess hall?"

"Go down the corridor and it's your first right."

"Spasibo."

Nodding, she did as the sailor told her, and found an open iron door. There was a great loud clamor from within. If she knew anything about Renton, she knew that his agenda in the morning was always the same: a full stomach and a clear mind. She smiled to herself, remembering how he always took the opportunity to sample the cuisine of her country. Eureka delighted at preparing the food herself, and having him be her critic for her culinary skill. His scores for her were always favorable, she recalled.

If she knew him as well as she did, it was a guarantee he'd be in the mess hall, searching for breakfast.

One entrance filled her nostrils with the smell of fresh eggs being cooked on a skillet, of oatmeal simmering in a pot of boiling water, and of fresh blini4 prepared in a pan. Eureka reached for a small tray and joined the queue, while scanning the place for her American friend. She didn't have to search far for him; he stuck out like a sore thumb among the muscular, lively, and dynamic crew members. He and she _were_ the only passengers on this vessel, after all.

He sat quietly in a corner, eating away at what looked to be fried eggs and sausage. His heavy black coat did not serve well to hide his thin frame; it looked two sizes too large for him. His piercing green eyes were wandering, glassy, and tired from the weeks spent searching, fighting and killing to find her. The hair was unkempt, hanging in his face like a curtain to hide himself from the world. His posture was one of distance and reticence, much how he always was when he first came to her country.

Even when they spent the best, happiest days of their lives together, there was still something about him he hid from her, and everyone. Try as she might to coax him, lead him out of the shell he had created, he still held on to some secrets of which he swore to her and to everyone else around him he could never breathe a word. She resolved now that would end, the moment they set foot ashore again. He was her guide now. Her one anchor and guardian in this world that had forsaken all human kindness. She was determined to get him out into the open, one way or another, however long it took.

It was with that purpose that she strode over to him in the corner, greeting him with the brightest and most exuberant smile she could muster.

"Dobroye utro," she greeted.

"Dobroye utro. I was starting to think you would never get up," he laughed.

"You _could_ have woken me up, you know."

"It would have taken forever," he said smiling knowingly. "Besides, you looked so peaceful; I wouldn't dare disturb you."

Eureka's cheeks turned a light shade of pink at that comment. Her bad sleeping habits were known to everyone, even him.

"I rest my case."

"And _you _don't sleep in from time to time?" she shot back at him.

"Definitely not all the time, like you."

"You're so difficult sometimes," she muttered, turning away from him.

Renton reached a hand over and gently placed it on her shoulder, laughing quietly at her small pout.

"I'll let you sleep as long as you want when we get home."

Eureka smiled. Another promise added to the list for him to keep. She'll be sure to remind him of it continuously if there is ever a day when he is desperate to wake her up for something.

"Is there anything fun to do in your town? I don't want to just be sleeping every day away."

"There are some things to do in town…"

He trailed off, looking down at his food, as if ashamed to admit he didn't have a good answer.

"What's the matter? _Don't_ you know?"

"It's not that. I just can't remember the last time I did do anything extraordinary back home. It's rather funny: you live in a place for so long that you forget what makes it unique."

Eureka shrugged the thought. Maybe he'd rather her find that out on her own; it was a prospect she was all too excited for. But it did leave her with burning questions about her new home.

"Do you have any friends back home?"

Renton sighed, as if hinting at something dark and gloomy, something he would rather she didn't know. He drank deeply from a cup of coffee that sat next to him, his green eyes never breaking away from her grey ones.

"I do. Not many, though."

"Why?"

"I don't need friends…I can get along fine without them."

Eureka frowned. Why did he even bother with her, if he didn't need her?

"Would you put me in that category, as well, Rentoshka? I consider myself your friend."

His eyes looked to her sincerely.

"If all my friends were like you, Eurekasha, things would be a lot different for me. But as it stands, I don't have many friends. I'm not the kind of person who sticks out among his community."

"Does everyone else hate you, then?"

"I don't think so. They just see me in a neutral light, or as 'that kid who always talks in Russian,' or 'that kid who went to Europe that one time.' I'm rather alone, in that sense. None of them know me. At least none know me like you do."

Eureka smiled, feeling a degree of privilege with him for being his friend and his one confidante. To be spoken of so highly by such a reticent and reserved boy like him must mean something. For as long as she knew him, she always had to earn his trust, and she did it easily from the day they met, even if he still kept some personal secrets to himself. How happy she was, knowing she had him in her corner. She took his free hand and held it in hers, gripping it tightly yet gently, as if to link them interminably as lifelong friends.

"If that's how they all see you, then they're blind, Renton. I know you to be a dynamic and caring person and a valuable friend. If they can't see that, then it's their loss."

"I'm glad there are still people like you left in this world, Eureka."

Eureka's cheeks grew into a deeper shade of red, and smiled. At that thought, she had an idea to tease him. Although kind and quiet, she had a mean, wild streak to her, although she was by no means sadistic. Nonetheless it brought her great joy to see him flustered and frustrated, as it reminded her of their days as youth when she always pried at him, seeking to make him feel out of place.

"Renton…are there girls in your town?"

His green eyes lit up, not with excitement but with bewilderment at such a question.

"Why do you ask?"

"I just want to know. Are there?"

"…there are," he said, as if admitting to that was like admitting to some cardinal sin. "Still don't know why you're so interested…"

"Are any of _them_ your friends?"

He paused, giving it serious thought.

"There is _one_ girl…"

Eureka smirked with this knowledge placed in her mental arsenal.

"Is she your girlfriend?"

Renton's eyes widened to the size of dinner plates, taken aback by her surprisingly forward question. It was obvious the idea of an intimate relationship was not something he was comfortable with. She couldn't contain her laughter as he stammered, faltered, and stumbled over his words, trying to explain things to her.

"EHH?! What?! NO! W-what kind of q-question is that?!"

"If you're getting _that_ upset," she said smirking, "there _is_ something between you and her…"

"I'm telling you: she's a friend! Why do you even want to know this?!"

"A woman has to know if she has competition…"

Renton's jaw dropped at that, and Eureka almost fell off her seat in hysterics, having caught him in her trap he couldn't get out of. He could be so gullible and so naive despite being a year and a half older than her, yet it was endearing to find someone she could easily level with, joke with, and laugh with. In many ways he was her first true friend, someone who treated her like an equal rather than as the youngest and only daughter of a prestigious family. Even when her family had been stripped of power, and her luxuries quickly vanished with the coming of war, Renton still showed signs he cared, with every letter he wrote her filled with kind words that gave her comfort in a world that offered none.

"Eureka, tell me you're not honestly thinking that…" he asked, fearing the answer before trailing off.

Eureka smiled brightly and tapped his nose with her delicate finger.

"That's for me to know and for you to find out."

Renton sighed with an exhausted smile. He knew to expect this from her by now, since the day they met and played together.

"You're hopeless."

»»»»»

**January 8****th****, 1943**

Time moved slowly on the open sea. Even when they had made a steady pace of 23 knots, very fast for a freighter, the feeling was one of life moving one day at a time. Eureka was late to waking up, as usual, and found Renton had gone off somewhere. Yet again. She wondered to herself what he constantly looked for in their trip. Was it simply a weariness that came after a long and hard-fought battle that made him seek closure and recovery? Whatever his reasons for wandering the ship like a restless spirit in search of a body, she went off in search of him.

This time, she scoured the outside decks, becoming slowly accustomed to the chilly yet mild zephyr of the Pacific. It was a welcome change from the countless below-freezing winters she spent in Mother Russia. Dressed once again in a light garb that shielded her from the cold, she fully expected him to be wrapped up in his oversized black coat. Yet when she did find him, it was not as she expected.

She found him leaning on the railings of the deck, overlooking the vast and infinite seas. He stared intently outward, as if the ocean had thousands of tales to tell to a weary traveler. Instead of being wrapped up in a coat, he was dressed in what she could only guess were his normal street clothes. They seemed rather foolish for someone to be wearing in this day and age.

Over his long-sleeved white dress shirt was a grey wool sweater vest, evidently old and worn from the patches of mismatching colors that were scattered about it. He had belted a pair of grey knickerbockers with a brass-buckled black belt, evidently a hand-me-down from happier times. To complete his costume were a pair of black socks and brown oxford shoes. Renton seemed better placed a decade or so prior to this, his clothes were so unfashionable.

She smiled, seeing an old quality of his shining through his outdated wardrobe, something she had been familiar with since the day they met. He always played with her and her brothers so vigorously, so energetically, as if he wanted the days of happiness to last his whole life, and to never have to see her go. Sadly time only moves forward, as much as she wanted to go back to those more innocent times.

Eureka approached Renton, and he looked to her, the wind sending his oak brown hair into a frenzy.

"Aren't you cold Renton?" she asked, concerned.

"Not really," he replied casually. "This kind of weather is common where I live. You grow used to it after a while."

"Is that why you're wearing all of that?" she pried, smirking.

Renton looked down at his attire, as if there was nothing wrong with what he had on.

"Nu shto ty? These are my normal everyday clothes. I wear them all the time."

"They _are_ a bit dated for someone like you, Renton."

"I don't know what you mean, really. I've never heard anyone say it to me before."

"I'm the first one who's honest with you, then," she said, giggling.

"Well, I'm not planning on changing my look, if that's what you're getting at," he said, crossing his arms defiantly.

Her smirk grew wider, into a mischievous grin, foreshadowing at something with an intent in her eyes unlike any Renton had seen before.

"Just wait until you see what I have planned for you. You'll be looking modern whether you like it or not."

"Posmotrim5," he answered, turning his eyes outward to the sea again.

Eureka sighed and leaned on the railing with him, trying to find what it is that so captivated him to look on into the unknown, and stare into the infinite abyss of the ocean. Even if he was always thinking and contemplating, he still found the time to cherish her presence, to smile at her and laugh with her. Even in the aftermath of finding each other again, and in the long arduous journey back that had brought them to here, something still tugged at his heart. What was it?

"Renton, what's wrong?" she asked, getting straight to the point. "You've been acting so strange ever since we left Stalingrad."

Renton closed his eyes, as if searching through a catalog of manufactured answers to satisfy her.

"I'm just thinking about everything that's happened. I still can't get over it all."

Eureka rested her gloved hand on his bare one, entreating him to turn to her.

"Get over what? Tell me, please, Rentoshka."

She felt his hand grip her tightly, and he turned to her with downhearted, misty green eyes.

"I can't get over everything I've done to find you!"

Eureka's grey eyes widened, as now he brought another hand to her shoulder, clinging to the sleeve of her dress as if she was an angel about to depart from the mortal world. Never before in her years of knowing him had she ever seen him so distraught, so lost, so hopeless. Only in his last letter to her before travelling did she ever have any hint that he was so emotionally distressed. He looked to be on the verge of collapsing right then and there, like a man who knew his death was nigh.

"I never wanted any of this to happen…the war, the invasion, the siege, all of it. I never wanted to fight in the Red Army. I never wanted to take so many lives, Germans _and_ Russians. I never wanted the medals, the honors, the fanfare, the hero's appraisals. None of it I ever wanted! All I wanted this whole time…"

His hand moved to her cheek and gently ran down her soft face. It was pale like porcelain, and smooth like marble.

"…I just wanted to see you again," he breathed, his trembling voice barely above a whisper. "I just wanted to see you…and go back to the way things were."

She smiled and took his hand. That desire to return to the past, to have things the way they once were in 1938, before the war, before so many innocent lives were lost and so many people had been swept away by the firestorm that engulfed the world, was something she had come to expect about him. Always in his letters he poured out his heart, yearning to turn back the pages of time and find a way to relive their youths. Always in his actions and deeds, he carried a sense of disappointment that innocent times had been left behind. Always in his words, there was a yearning to go back, back to when there was nothing but the Volga, Stalingrad, and her.

"Renton…"

"I'm sorry this had to happen, Eurekasha. You deserved none of it. I just hope I'm able to give you the life you deserve back home."

"It's not that, Rentoshka. You shouldn't apologize for something you had no control over. In a way, I'm glad things turned out like this."

Renton sniffed, and tilted his head in confusion.

"You are? Why?"

"I'm glad we grew up. It's because you grew up that you came to search for me. And it's because I grew up that I…"

She blushed, inching towards him.

"…that I want to go on living. Even if it's a new life in a completely foreign land, I still want to live. With you."

Renton breathed heavily, and took her in a deep embrace, crying his heart out to her. She deserved none of what had happened to her, but she was right. Time could not stand still. He couldn't go back now. Russia was behind him, along with everything it held of significance to him. He could only move forward, and carry on with the life he had now. He had done his duty, performed every deed asked of him, received honors for it, deserved or not. All that was left for him and for her was to create new memories with the lives that stretched out ahead of them.

"There's nothing more I want than to go back to those days," Eureka whispered, "but it's just not possible anymore, Renton. The Stalingrad we knew and grew up in is gone. All of our old friends are gone. Even my family is gone. We can't live in the past anymore. I came with you because I wanted a new life…and I know you can give it to me."

"Ya obeschayu," he swore silently. "You'll have a new life, I swear it. One much better than what you had when this war began."

She looked up to him, and cupping his scarred face in her gentle velvety gloved hands, pulled him into a soft sweet kiss. In one instant, everything that caused her pain in the past evaporated like water underneath the blazing summer sun. No, she could not go back to her past. No, she did not intend to. Her family wouldn't want her to live that way. She promised Holland to not take one look back, to only look forward and forge a new existence. It would be a long time, but she would regain what she lost. She would rebuild herself, and she would help to rebuild him. They were together now, just as they had wanted to be for four years; now their questions were geared to the future.

"I don't want to think about war anymore, Renton," she whispered on his lips. "I just want to think of home. _Our_ home."

"Yeah," he nodded, resting his head against hers. "We can start over now, Eureka."

Their lips touched again, and the dark and harrowing past faded with their kiss. What of the war? What of fascism? What of a German who, in his insane ambitions, seeks to rule all? What of a country that treats its citizens like prisoners? What of a city whose future remains in question? What of men like Chertov who scoffed at all gentler and kinder things in the world, and tossed aside humanity in exchange for fighting for some temporal, vain victory? What of it all? It mattered not. As long as Renton was in Eureka's world, and Eureka was in Renton's world, everything else was of secondary importance. Nothing else mattered in that moment. Nothing else but each other.

**END OF PART ONE**

1 I see.

2 It's very delicious/tasty!

3 Excuse me

4 Blini: Thin pancakes popular in Russia and the former Soviet Union made from yeasted wheat batter. Similar to the French crepe, they can be topped with butter, caviar, or a variety of fruit jams.

5 We'll see.

* * *

**Author's Note: As I am sure you all saw, yes, there is more to this. This is only the first in the original historical fanfiction saga. My first priority, however, is to get the copyright friendly version of this published, and once that is done, I will be on to editing and posting the next volume, which will be _Fight for the One You Love._ For everyone who has read this, before and after, I am grateful for your time. I am just surprised that people still read the stuff I posted five years ago. So it's only fair it gets a reboot and a revision. Until the next volume is posted up, I encourage you all to read, review, and send me any feedback you can. I went through a lot to make all this, and any helpful words are greatly appreciated by me.**

**Until next time,**

**Jordan**


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